Along the Shores
by brigitte51
Summary: Gondor, Third Age. A lone Elf wanders on the shores of Middle-earth. He sometimes takes care of wounded men and women he comes across, those rejected by the sea after shipwrecks or those victims of the corsairs of Umbar. Yet once they are out of danger, ever he vanishes, never revealing his true identity, until one day... . [The OC is a canon character I could not find in the list]
1. Ashes

I wanted to try something new with this fic, as in a more poetic and dramatic tone (if I can), a much shorter story (probably around 5-6 chapters) and some racy scenes :) So the rating is M, not so much for this 1st chapter than for later on. I did not really wish to come up with a female OC and one day, as I was deperatly browsing through some Gondorian genealogies, I found her, Gilmith. She's an actual canon character whom you can find in the genealogy of the Princes of Dol Amroth (I'm telling you a bit more about her at the end of the chapter) and based of the tiny bits we know about her, I came up with this fic.

Just to provide a quick background to this story, Anfalas is the westernmost part of Gondor (so we're quite far from Minas Tirith). At that time, there was still a king in Gondor, Eärnil II (he ruled from 1954 to 2043) and his son, Eärnur, was the last king to rule the kingdom before Aragorn comes (Eärnur died in 2050). During these years, the Witch-King came to Mordor and eventually took Minas Ithil which was then renamed Minas Morgul. Also, around 1944, Gondor lost control of Umbar, so after that and for a good thousand years, the corsairs raided Anfalas and Belfalas every now and then. Also, not far from Dol Amroth (which is where Prince Imrahil comes from, in the LOTR, and is located in Belfalas, next to Anfalas) used to be an Elven Haven, Edhellond that was abandoned some time after the death of Amroth, King of Lórien (the one who was in love with Nimrodel). Amroth died in 1980 so at the time of this story, it was still a fairly recent event and we can guess the people of this area were used to the presence of Elves (at the time of the War of Ring, it was an area where Sindarin was still commonly spoken in households). And since Dol Amroth means "Hill of Amroth" it came only known as such after his death, before it was called Dor-en-Ernil "Land of the Prince" because the lords of Belfalas had been named Princes by Elendil and they were Faithful Númenóreans of his kin (and from what I've gathered in Belfalas the people remained very 'Númenórean' in appearance and culture). Sorry for the long explanation!

That's it for [the very long] introduction! Have fun reading and please forgive me for the occasional typo!

The painting used as a cover is "On the Seashore" by George Elgar Hicks (Victorian era, but it does set the mood).

Ah, and of course, all credits to Professor Tolkien.

* * *

 **Along the Shores - Part 1  
**

 **1\. Ashes  
**

 **Anfalas (Gondor), 2028 T.A. early September  
**

It was a small town, or perhaps just a big village, set on the western bank of Lefnui river, a few miles north of its mouth, where it flew into the sea, and it was an area where Sindarin was still spoken in most households. There, the land belonged to the kingdom of Gondor, but the men who dwelled in the Anfalas had their own customs and they rarely ventured farther than Dor-en-Ernil, fewer even had gone past Pelargir. And ever since Mordor had seemingly rose in power once more, as two decades ago Minas Ithil had been conquered by the Ringwraiths, those who dwelled on the shores felt no desire to travel east and more than ever were their hearts and minds turned towards sea.

Alas, it was from the sea that death had come, when the corsairs of Umbar had lead a sudden attack on Anfalas, catching the villagers unaware, for they all had gathered to celebrate a wedding, on this warm September evening.

He had seen the flames rose high in the sky, illuminating the forest and the meadows within at least a mile around the village, and soon a heavy cloud of black smoke smothered the fire. It floated above the ruins of the houses all night, absorbing the light of the Moon and of the Stars, and at dawn it started disintegrating, as ashes slowly settled on the ground, covering the whole town with a thick dark gray mantle.

A gloomy silence enveloped the village's burnt remainings, yet he had walked through it, in the hope of finding some survivors. He had seen that some had been able to escape on horseback, before they were completely outnumbered by the corsairs, but he doubted they would come back anytime soon, since they probably had rode further inland to seek a safe refuge nearer the mountains. But he, the sole witness of the whole attack, could not bear to leave without having searched the village as thoroughly as possible - at best, one or two lives might be saved, perhaps.

The first one was an old man whose hair and beard were white and he sat on the ground, his back against a stone wall, his heart still feebly beating. Dried blood stained his clothes and whatever lethal wound he had received, he could not overcome it - closing his eyes after he had drew his last breath was all there was to do. The second was a boy, a child of no more than six or seven, whose skin was burnt, covered with blisters, and he had asked for some water, although he had passed away before drinking any of it. The third and last one, he would have almost not spotted her at all, for she was burried beneath the broken pieces of huge beam, in what had probably been a stabble. Under layers of cinder and dirt, a gleam of her brown hair had caught his eyes and after long labour, he had been able to retrieve her from the ruins. Having made sure she could be moved safely, he had carried her outside the village, to the shore where he could easily find shelter in a small creek.

The girl - she most probably had not celebrated her twentieth birthday yet - was inconscious and, checking her upclose, he had discovered a bump on the back of her head. He had thus assumed she had been knocked down when the roof above her had collapsed, yet she had been lucky enough no to be burnt alive, somehow. However, she had inhaled great quantities of ashes and violent coughing fits would seize her, the sound of it was horrible and more than once did he fear she would simply die of choking.

But this one, despite her frail appearance, was tough and by the time night came once more, she had not given up on life. He did all in his power to help her, cleaning her face, her arms, tending some minor injuries, and wrapping her in warm clothes, yet he really would have needed some plants to truly heal her and he dared not leave her side - if she did not make it to the morning, he did not want her to die alone, at least.

An hour or so before dawn, while the Moon alone was providing a pale glow that reflected on the stones and on the sand, she stirred a little and, after having coughed again, she finally opened her eyes. She did not see him at first and she scanned the cave, bewildered, until her green gaze fell upon him, who was sitting near the the entrance, his harp in his hands.

"Where am I?" she whispered and even as exhausted as she was, it was in Sindarin she had spoken and not in Westron.

"Not far from the sea," he simply told her.

It was not exactly a cave they were in, but rather a nook the waves had digged into the limestone walls of the creek, and she actually lied on grey sand, just a few yards away from the water since the tide was high. No corsairs would ever find them in there and, anyhow, they were not a very interesting prey, compared to nearby settlements.

"Who are you?" he asked her.

"Gilmith, daughter of Imrazôr," she answered, rubbing her face slowly. Her head hurt and she soon realized even the tiniest effort turned out to be terribly painful.

"Where are you from?"

"Dor-en-Ernil." _The land of the Prince_... She felt it was not relevant to mention her father was this Prince and lord of Belfalas. That was too much words and speaking required a strength she no more possessed.

"And what were you doing before... before the attack?"

She had received quite a blow on her head and he had been worried that even if she did wake up, she might suffer from memory loss, or perhaps something even more terrible.

"I was at Fíriel's wedding... my friend's wedding," she muttered and, suddenly, as if alerted by the waves' gentle lapping sound, she became agitated. "The sea... it is dangerous to be near the sea..."

"Have no fear, this cave is hard to reach and more than likely unknown to Men, even those who dwell closeby," he said and she seemed so weary, almost on the verge of fainting, that he decided she had talked enough for now. "Now, rest. You are safe with me, Gilmith."

He plucked a few strings of his harp and soon a sad melody filled the cavern, one that carried images of far away lands and lost treasures. Music did good to Gilmith, for within minutes, her breath had steadied and she fell back to a deep slumber. It would be days, perhaps weeks before she could stand on her own and move by herself again. But it did not matter, for he had nowhere to go and nothing else to do - he would take care of her, nurse her back to health, as he had done for so many others during so many years. Beside wandering and singing, that was all he had left to do.

* * *

After seven days had passed since the terrible night of the attack, Gilmith started showing some positive signs of recovery. She barely coughed anymore and she was able to sit upright long enough to eat the broth he brewed for her - he thought it was now safe for him to leave her alone a few hours a day, when he was out in search of food or to scout the area.

The girl barely spoke. She seemed not to bother about who he was or why he had decided to take care of her and that was quite alright with him, for he had very few answers to provide to her. And so, most of the time, when she was awake, Gilmith stared at the sea, lost in her thoughts, dreaming of distant shores where heather bloomed and seagulls flew high in the blue sky, for these images chased away her woes and brought her closer to her beloved father and brother.

While her mutism did not worry him overly, he was surprised she had not yet shed a single tear. She had gone through quite a traumatic event, both physically and mentally, and he reckoned many of her loved ones had perished in the tragedy. Ought she not have wept profusely by then or was she simply concealing her pain from him? True, he avoided gazing at her too long and she could have been crying while he was away, however he felt she was still too shocked to realize what had happened and perhaps she would cry alot, in due time. She surely would indeed.

And one day, a fortnight exactly after he had found her amidst the village's rubbles, Gilmith seemed to finally take notice of his presence and it dawned upon her she owned him her life, he whose name even she knew not. It was dusk and the first stars had lighted up in the sky - that was what he was staring at, unaware that she had woken up from a long nap, unaware that her green eyes were set on him. The rosy Sun had disappeared beyond the sea, gone into the West, though she had left behind her prettiest colours, gradients of flaming red, orange and purple that shimmered on the waves' crests. This magnificent display of nature's beauty ever filled his heart with grief, endless, hopeless grief, and in moments like these, even music failed to soothe his tormented soul.

How he yearned for those lands, how he did... Heaving a sigh, he turned his head around, only to meet her gaze.

Gilmith was startled, nonetheless she inquired, in a low voice, "Where are we?"

The question, however simple it was, shook him out of his nostalgia and he answered at once, "A few miles east of the village I found you in."

"And... what is your name?"

"Call me Dregor."

 _Dregor_ , he who runs away.

Gilmith highly doubted it was his real name, but she knew better than to tell him that, even though she did wonder where he was from and why he he had been around the village the day she had nearly died. What had he been doing there, he, an Elf? For he obviously was one, that was easy enough to guess, and if his people used to dwell in Belfalas, they had almost completely vanished after the death of King Amroth, some decades ago.

His speech too was strange. His Sindarin was different from the one she was used to hear and speak - hers was the Sindarin of the Men of Westernesse and his, while being perfectly intelligible, sounded soft and grand, like a mysterious song of old times. Yet when he sang, and as far as she could recall he had done so everyday since they were together, it had always been in Quenya, a language Gilmith was rather familiar with, although in Dor-en-Ernil its use was limited to official ceremonies and scholarly researches.

"You are not a Man..." she then said, not sure of how she should tackle this matter.

"No, indeed..." And he was about to ask her who she was exactly, for she looked... she looked quite Elven-like for a maiden of Gondor. Actually, it was obvious Elven blood ran through her veins, for even he would have mistaken her for one the Silvan Elves, had he not stumbled upon her in a Men's village - not to mention her father's name was Adûnaic.. But he had strict rules concerning those he saved and healed, he never asked for more than their name and their place of origin, in short, all he needed to help them reach home safely. The rest, he knew, was none of his business.

"Where are you from? The North?" Gilmith ventured to ask, as she grabbed a bowl he had put beside her beddings, when she had been asleep.

"I come from far away," was all he said, without so much as a glance at her, resuming his contemplation of the sky.

Clearly, he would say no more on the matter and Gilmith herself, although usually curious when Elves were involved, had no desire to question him any further. Her head felt dizzy whenever she sat too long, her legs were still heavy and numb and her whole body ached from all the bruises that covered her skin - it seemed some of them would never disappeared. And she had yet to wash herself, as Dregor had only cleaned her partially and that had been days ago already. Her hair was greasy and she stinked, that was maybe why he never came near her - he always stood by the cave's entrance.

Yet the dirt and the pain were not the real issues she struggled with. She had to fight every second not to let her mind being crushed by the images of the massacre that had taken place in the village, the night of the wedding...

It had been the first time she had travel on her own, without her father and her brother by her side. She had had a small escort with her, a few guards and maids, like it suited a young lady of her rank, but all in all it had been a small company, for the roads of Gondor were safe and the pirates of Umbar had not lead any attacks in Anfalas or in Belfalas over the last decades.

Gilmith had been so happy to attend Fíriel's wedding. Both girls had been friends since childhood and even though they had both been looking forward the feast, it had also meant they would live apart henceforth. With so many reasons to celebrate, she had danced a lot, and even flirted with some of the young men there. Yet now she dared not imagine what had happened to them afterwards, when the pirates had come... They probably all had died, Dregor had told her he had seen barely a dozen people escape on horseback, although, admitedly, there could have been a few more - had Fíriel been among them?

"Do you remember what happened?"

He seemed to be able to tell what was going through her mind and Gilmith thought it was maybe time to put some words on what she had been the witness of, despite her weariness.

"Barely... The people of the village raised the alarm, I heard the bells ring and then lord Beregond yelled at the men to get hold of any weapon they could find and he told us, the ladies and the young ones, to run into the woods and hide there... But the corsairs were on us, fast, too fast, and I believe... I believe none of us had gotten prepared to fight or had fled far enough. I saw them slain a few men, including the groom... Women yelled, children cried... As for I, I aimed to reach the nearest house to hide in it, I entered the stable but failed to notice it had been set afire. A beam fell from the roof and hit me on the back of the head, thus I... I was knocked down..."

"You had been there for hours, then, when I found you," he said, pensively. "You were lucky, Gilmith, these men probably assumed you were dead already, otherwise..."

"Otherwise they would have killed me, or worst... I would be on one of their ships as we speak," she muttered and it took all her will not to sob.

He nodded and his face was grim, but his grey eyes were filled with pity which gave Gilmith enough courage to go on.

"I have to go back to Dor-en-Ernil, my father and my brother... they must believe me to be dead. I have to see them, I need to..." Talking about them was difficult and it made her become distressed, increasing her languor - she fell back on her bedding.

"You are too weak to walk, let alone to undertake such a long journey," he said sharply.

"There are dozen villages along the shores where many ships are moored, surely someone would help me go there. My father is much loved among the people of Anfalas and Belfalas..."

He had come closer, worried that a fever might seize her, yet even then he kept an appropriate distance between them, merely brushing her forehead with his left hand to check her temperature.

"Gilmith, I mean not to scare you, however... it is hardly plausible the pirates have limited themselves to sacking one village."

"What...?"

"I saw dozens of ships on the sea that night, the whole coast must have been devastated."

"Yet I... I have to go home."

"Worry not, I shall find a way to deliver you safely to your lord father."

 _Deliver._ His choice of word was peculiar, but she understood what he had meant - he would not himself enter her hometown, nor any other town for that matter, for he belonged elsewhere and their meeting had been but a mere incident in his wanderings.

* * *

Despite being listed as such, Gilmith is not an OC, but she was not in the list of characters I could chose from (which is not surprising I suppose). She is the sister of Galador who was the 1st Prince of Dol Amroth (and ancestor of Imrahil). Their father was Imrazôr, a noble man of Númorean descent and Prince himself although in his time the land was still probably called Dor-en-Ernil (Land of the Prince), and their mother was Mithrellas a Silvan Elf and a companion of Nimrodel (the one the river was named after in Lórien _)_. It is not sure whether they really were Half-Elven, since it's considered a 'legend' that Imrazôr wedded an Elf-maiden, but in the LotR Legolas says he can tell Imrahil has Elven blood running through his veins... Anyhow there is an actual family tree, so it is = Imrazôr + Mithrellas = Galador and Gilmith.

She was born in T.A. 2009, so she is 19 in the story and her mother, Mithrellas, vanished some time after her birth, so she never knew her and since her brother is 5 years older than her, he probably doesn't really remember his mother very well.

Oh and a harp seems to be quite a big item to carry when you have lost everything and wander the world hopelessly, so let's assume it is a celtic harp. They're not too big.


	2. Rain

I checked an atlas of Middle-earth so the distances I give would not be too unrealistic, however I'm used to the metric system and am not very familiar with miles, leagues and rangar so it might not be as accurate as I would like it to be. Also I have been wondering how fast Maglor could walk, based on how fast the Fellowship progressed (some people did calculate that!). [in case anyone cares]

* * *

 **2\. Rain**

 **Anfalas 2028 T.A., end of September**

Rain had been pouring down the sky for two straight days, but he could not afford to delay their departure any longer. Gilmith had spent three weeks in the small cavern and though at first it had been a convenient shelter, it had since then become partly flooded and, moreover, too tiny for the two of them to stay there. The young girl had regained some strength and she now could stand up and walk a little which he deemed enough for them to begin their journey towards her home - journey being a bit of an overstatement, for he intended to drop her in the nearest inhabited settlement. At any length he believed proximity would do them no good, for he had caught her eyeing him a few times already and he had began to fear she might become curious and start seeking to learn more about him.

"Do you believe carrying me on your back is our best option, sir? I daresay it might be too burdensome for you..."

Gilmith knew not how to address him properly, being reluctant to simply use Dregor and still trying to figure out if he could be any sort of lord, thus she had settled for the term "sir" which she deemed to be neutral, yet polite.

"You cannot walk for such a long distance and we have no horses," he replied flatly.

Besides, the girl was small and he'd have wagered that if the wind blew too hard she'd be swept away, like an autumn leaf in the breeze - perhaps he would even have been able to pick her up by the scruff and carry her around, as if she were a kitten. All in all, her concern was rather amusing, but he was not in the mood to jest.

"Alright..." she muttered, gathering the woolen grey cloak he had lended her around her shoulders - the hood was too big for her and raindrops kept rolling off of it. "What of the rain? Shall it not get too cold for you?"

His attire was plain and whatever warm clothes he owned he had put them on her, urging her to bundle herself up - with such bad weather, he dreaded she could have easily caught some terrible disease.

"It does not matter, a little water won't hurt me." He discarded her concerns with a shrug and anyhow, he was drenched already.

And Gilmith could not think of any other reason not to climb on his back, aside from her own shyness to proceed.

Until then, she had not gotten a proper look at him. In fact she had listened more than she had watched, for he possessed a heavenly voice, so enthralling it was like traveling in a dream every time he sang - she did wonder if all Elves were such skilled menestrels or if even among his peers he was outstanding. Thus she had oft kept her eyes close in his presence and before this day, as they were about depart, she had never stood beside him. But finally they were both right outside the cavern, next to each other, and Gilmith felt ridiculously flustered to discover that this Dregor was a giant, well above the two rangar that had been considered a decent height in Númenor and that was hardly reached by the tallest men of Gondor nowadays.

Yet his impressive frame was only part of what caused her to be bashful as he also happened to be handsome, strikingly handsome to be exact, and Gilmith would have been unable to tell precisely why, nor to provide a thorough description of his features. His aura was breathtaking, so much that it seemed to blur her vision whenever she tried to focus on his face and all she was really sure of was that his hair was black and his eyes grey, like most of the people dwelling of Anfalas and Belfalas. And there was a gleam in his gaze, a light the likes of she had never seen, and she felt it was the key to his origins which he had carefully avoided to mention so far.

"Are you all set, Gilmith? The village lies some six leagues east of here and I believe we should reach it before dawn."

What could she be but ready when all she had to bring along was herself, she had no idea, yet Gilmith shot him one last look, unsure and she noticed his right hand was wrapped with a thick bandage, although his fingers were free to move - it crossed her mind he could have gotten injured in the afterwards of the attack, searching through the rubble.

"Perhaps your hand would hurt if—"

"Off we go, young girl," he snapped and he had put one knee down.

"Alright..." Gilmith said again.

She slid her hands on his shoulders while he grabbed her legs and it was a small relief for both of them that she was wearing so many layers of clothes - there was still a barrier between them. Even then Gilmith was stiff, clinging on his back awkwardly, and the fact that he did not utter a single word made her feel even more uncomfortable. Hopefully night had fallen and darkness helped her ease up a little, while his steady pace rocked her into a pleasant state of drowsiness.

Eventually Gilmith forgot about decency and she leaned her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck, gazing at the scenery unfolding around them - shadows of tall pine trees, big rocks on which the waves broke and shimmering sand. The rain had calmed down, it had become more of a drizzle that seeped into fabric, but she could not complain for she was well protected from it by her cloak. And at some point, she could not clearly remember when, he started singing softly a lament whose lyrics were obscure yet whose melody was so mournful it was as if the Sun was never to rise again.

How sorrowful this lonesome Dregor could be...

* * *

Gilmith woke up when she felt he was putting her down, on wet grass. Rain had completely stopped, but not since long, and the sky was still greyish, even though dawn was to come soon.

"Is the village far?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes.

"It is right behind this grove."

From what he had glimpsed, this area had also been visited by the corsairs, however he told her not about it. And as he saw she was trying to get up, he summoned her not to move.

"Let me go first, I shall be back soon enough," he whispered.

Still numb from her sleep, Gilmith watched him stride away, hoping that for once he would bring back some real food, not just nuts and roots. It took her a while to become really aware of her surroundings, yet it seems she was on the bank of what appeared to be a small pond, around which young trees and bushes grew, and she was under the impression that the sea was not far - the breeze carried a salty smell and seagulls flew in circle right above her.

By the time she was fully awake, the Sun had come out from behind strands of white clouds, welcomed by singing cicadas, and its light warmed Gilmith who felt cold and wet from that night she had spent outside, even though the many layers of clothes she was wearing had kept her away from the worst. However, she was convinced she smelled like some dog who had been locked out outside during a stormy night and gazing at the nearby pond, it crossed her mind how pleasant it would be to bathe while her clothing dried, spread on the grass or hung on a branch. A quick investigation confirmed the water was just at the right temperature, fresh enough to revigorate her, yet warm enough that she would not freeze, and soon Gilmith had slipped out of her dresses. A sigh of satisfaction escaped a lips when she entered the pond.

Washing away the dirt, the sweat, the blood felt supremely good, almost as if she was getting rid of her old skin, the one that had suffered so much over the last weeks, and ultimate happiness was reached when she immersed herself fully in the water. Her long thick brown hair floated around her, it formed a long banner behind her when she began to swim and what a relief it was to be able to move so freely, as if all pain had finally left her.

Birds had come closer, warbling gaily in the bushes, and a squirrel on a quest to find chestnuts had stopped by, allowing her to pet the top its head awhile, before going back to its business. Gilmith and her brother both had an uncanny knack with animals, wild or tame, and their dogs and their horses had always been the best trained in the land. Galador especially was proud of this gift and despite his tall height and his sturdy silhouette, he knew how to walk silently in the forest and no creatures feared him, whereas they would have fled at the merest sight of his companions. That ought have been enough to make him a great hunter, yet while he enjoyed riding in forests, he had absolutely no taste for hunting - much to their father's despair.

And that was how it happened, how Gilmith finally broke in tears, upon realizing how far she was from her family, to whom she was seemingly forever lost. Still immerged in the water, she was unable to stop weeping and her shoulder shook frantically as she covered her face with her hands. Many grieving matters did she have to deal with and she surely could not hope that one bath would free her from the horrible memories of the attack. She had to mourn those who had fallen and unleash her grief.

* * *

He caught sight of her from afar, as she was stepping out of the pond. Her long brown hair partially concealed her nakedness, yet before averting his eyes from her, he managed to register an impressive number of fleeting details - the water drops running down her back, the shapeliness of her hips, the roundness of her breast. He saw not the bruises that still marked her skin, nor did he see her eyes brimming with tears, and that was a turning point although he was unaware of it, captivated as he was. Gilmith no more was just an anonymous victim he had saved from death, she was a beautiful maiden whose melancholic expression moved him deeply.

And perhaps, in the depths of his heart, desire had awakened.

* * *

When he finally showed up in front of her, Gilmith had put back on her clothes and her hair had almost entirely dried, shining under the sunlight. She did not ask him why it had taken him so long to come back, neither did she really care about the food anymore - she had also forgotten about the village's inhabitants who, she had hoped, would help her reach home. Her eyes were still red from all the crying and even the flock of flamingos, who had come to rest in the pond just mere feet from her, had failed to cheer her up.

"I'm afraid this village was also attacked by the corsairs," he announced without any preamble - he'd rather pretend he had not noticed she had cried. "There is barely anything left..."

Sadly, he had foreseen this and what he had gone seek in the village was not people who would have taken care of Gilmith, but means of transportation. A horse or two would have been ideal, or perhaps a small boat, but none of that had he found there, where everything had been burned down and sacked, and he now found himself facing a dilemna. He would never let Gilmith journey alone, fully healed or not, yet he also felt it was urgent he parted from her.

"Should we not head further inland, sir?" she suggested, her voice hoarse. "The villagers probably fled towards the mountains."

"I never leave the seaside."

"Well then, there might be no need for you to go, but I have strayed long enough." And all she really wished for was to see her father and her brother again, as soon as possible.

"Gilmith, you barely can stand on your own two feet and you would travel through these unknown lands in search of villagers that might have just all perished in the attack?" he told her, too harshly perhaps.

"You saw yourself that some of them were able to flee..."

"Indeed, yet if by now, three weeks after that dreadful night, none of them has returned near the shores, I highly doubt that they shall come back before Spring," he said, in a softer tone, and he felt foolish, for he would have gladly stroked her hair, her cheeks, to soothe her distress.

"What am I to to do, then? Spend Winter here?" she muttered, peering at the pond. Somehow, she found it easier to argue when she was not looking at him.

"We shall go farther eastward," he announced, a bit surprised himself at what he was suggesting.

"There are no settlements for another twenty leagues at least..."

"So be it. We will leave tomorrow at dawn and it should take us no more than three days to cover this distance."

And having said this, he decided it was time for dinner - he had caught two hares on his way back from the village - and he busied himself, starting a fire and dismembering his catch, careful not to glance at her. Whether he headed to Dor-en-Ernil or not did not matter, as he followed no specific path, but slowly the idea had been born in his mind that he could walk with her as far as the river Morthond, where Edhellond had been raised. Oh, it was a foolish thought, for he believed he had spent too much time with her already, yet what would be a few more days...

"I owe you much already, Dregor,"said Gilmith, after having remained silent a few minutes, and it startled him to hear her pronounce his 'name'. "I can scarcely fathom how I could ever hope to thank you properly... and I cannot expect more from you, can I? Are there not any more pressing matters you should attend to, instead of wasting your time with a daughter of the Men?"

She still had no clue as to why he had bothered to save her or the others - she had come to understand he had done so several times, over the years - but she presumed his generosity had some boundaries.

"When I removed you from the ruins of the stabble, I also committed myself to safely return you to your family," he told her in a low voice, running his hand, the one wrapped in a bandage, through his black hair. "And perhaps a month is a long period of time for you, yet to me it is not much to spare."

"I suppose I can thank you nonetheless?" Gilmith said, turning her head to look at him.

Her green eyes were very pretty, though they were filled with tears, and he was struck at the way she was staring at him, so openly, so genuinely.

"Yes... yes, of course," he found himself muttering as he crouched by the fire.

Although he pretended to check the roasting of the hares, he was concerned by far different issues. Even at first glance, Gilmith had seemed to be an Elf and now that he was actually considering her up close, now that her brown hair shone from having been freshly washed and that her cheeks had gone pink, her ressemblance to the Silvan folk was absolutely startling - she belonged to great wild forests, not to the stone cities of Men. Yet she had said she had been fathered by Imrazôr of Dor-en-Ernil and she had not lied about it, thus what else could she but a mortal maiden?

However there was something else he had dared think about, a possibility he would rather not pondered about, for the mere notion of it stirred the most grieving feelings within his chest.

"Pray, Gilmith, who is your mother?" he inquired all of a sudden.

"My mother vanished barely a few weeks after I was born, I do not remember her," she answered, wary.

"What was her name?" he insisted.

"... Mithrellas."

Sindarin names were not uncommon among Men, for most of the lords still followed the traditions of the old days and in the western parts of Gondor Westron was actually seldom heard. However this particular name had a definite... Silvan feel to it.

"Was she a lady of Gondor, or perhaps a lady of Eriador?"

"Is it not enough that I have told you I come from Dor-en-Ernil?" retorted Gilmith who was growing uneasy.

"Yes, I suppose it is, I..."

It was none of his business who she was, truly, and he never bothered to learn much about those he saved - he was not seeking to form any kind of attachment with them. All he cared about was to heal them, whatever they did before or after ought not be any of his concerns, for he had chosen to lead a lonely life, cut from all ties, an existence of mourning and repentance. Yet if her mother were to be an Elf, then it would make Gilmith... a Half-Elven and that caused him great anguish.

On the other hand Gilmith had no idea he never made that kind of inquiries and she believed him to be nosy and to suspect she had not told him the truth, whereas she had indeed. She liked not talking about her mother and anyhow at home her name was never pronounced. Not that she had become the object of some absurd hatred, on the contrary, it was because she had been loved and was still loved that it was so hard to mention her.

Lord Imrazôr missed dearly his wife, although he had always been aware their union was to be tragic in the end and he was not resentful in the least bit, he simply was sad. As to Galador and Gilmith, they had been raised by a very loving father, who treasured them above all else, yet the absence of their mother had ever been a wound in their hearts, one that could not quite be mended. Gilmith, especially, had always had to deal with this feeling of loss and as she had grown up, it had become more and more evident she was strikingly alike her mother. For years already, she had been nicknamed Edhelwen by many, although never in front of her father. But she oft wondered, did she merely look like her mother or was she truly like her mother, of the same nature as her?

"My mother was named Mithrellas and she was a Silvan Elf who got lost on her journey to Edhellond, hence my father came upon her in the forests of Belfalas and took her as his wife. She bore him two children, my brother and I, and then she left in the night, and that is all there is to tell, for that is all I know myself," Gilmith told him at last, in a single breath.

Silent tears were rolling down her face, however he was too stunned to notice it. There had been but very few Peredhil throughout the history of Arda and he had been too closely involved with them not to be horribly shaken upon discovering Gilmith was one too - he heaved a sigh, unable to speak.

"What does that make me?" she inquired, whispering.

"The likes of you were called Half-Elven in the old days," he managed to say, focusing hard on his hares - truth be told, they were about to be totally burned.

"And what have the likes of me become in the old days?"

"How would I know..."

Pronouncing these words, his face had become so sinister that it lead Gilmith to believe Half-Elven were frowned upon by the Elves, however being scorned was the least of her worries.

"Are there any others like me where... where you come from?" she dared ask.

At first she had thought he was from the North, maybe from Lindon where still dwelled some of the Elves who had once been ruled by last High King, Gil-Galad, but he had neither denied nor confirmed it when she had tried to ask him about it, when they were in the cavern. One thing was sure, he was not of her mother's folk, for he was too tall and too sturdy to be one of the Silvan Elves. Gilmith had read and heard everything she could about them and she was naive enough to believe that it would be sufficient to recognize one, would such an encounter happen.

"No... Half-Elvens are a rather uncommon occurence," he answered, reluctant.

"Yet is not lord El—"

"Do not say this name!" he cut her off, sharply, and he jumped on his feet quickly. "I will be off to the beach, but do enjoy your meal."

In a swirl of grey and brown clothes, he stormed off hurriedly, carrying his harp, and a dozen of whistling seagulls flew after him, while in the pond the flamingos, disturbed in their rest, ruffled their pink feathers lazily.

Gilmith was left alone to ponder, oblivious of the fact that the hares were completely burnt by then, and she was quite puzzled, for she sensed it was not anger she had triggered in him, but sadness, infinite sadness.

* * *

It seems I keep insisting on how small Gilmith is, but frankly I don't picture her being especially small, it's more how Maglor perceives her to be because he is ridiculously tall himself (I see that as a family trait) and also because she is much much much more younger than he is. He'd probably consider her father and her brother to be small too, when it's really not the case.

End of September might seem late for swimming, but considering that Minas Tirith would be on the same latitude as Firenze, I suppose Gondor in general must not be that cold at that time of the year.

'Edhelwen' ('Elf maiden') was how Morwen (Túrin's mother) was called because her beauty was that of an Elf and so I thought it could be a likely nickname for Gilmith too, since she looked like her Elven mother.


	3. Wind

**Hil** : Wow thank you for your kind words! I've always felt Maglor's fate was so tragic, since it seems he never gets to go back home even though that is what he is yearning for (I assume). Also, I might be partial, but despite the Oath he sort of... did well? Obviously he's killed many innocents, at the same time, even after the three kinslayings, he was still able to raise Elrond and Elros and love them (I'd say he remained human, but he's an Elf...). Anyways, I believe he was not a bad person deep down and he would have sincerely sought forgiveness at some point. As for the story's length, I'm very unsure about how it will turn out to be. I've been thinking about it for a long time already and I've come up with 3 different endings... and I don't know how far I should take it for the moment, so we'll see!

There are only two of them, but they have so many issues to deal with, I'm afraid I will forget something.

* * *

 **3\. Wind**

He sat on a dune, facing the ocean.

Seagulls had followed him, as they oft did, and for millenia they had been his only companions - they loved listening to his songs and to the sound of his harp and he loved watching their slender silhouettes swirl in the sky. And it seemed the birds knew he was feeling greatly distressed, for a whole colony had stationed around him and even the strongest waves, that came tickling his feet, could not dissuade them to leave his side. A powerful wind had risen from the East and it swept away the sand, as well as seashells, bits of dried seaweed and sea foam. Yet it did not disturb him, for he was lost in tormented thoughts, having to face his past once more.

When he had picked Gilmith up in the stabble, he could not have possibly known who she was, or rather _what_ she was. And now that he had told her he would find a way to bring her back to her father, he could not abandon her, could he? Even if Gilmith's presence by his side was seriously threatening his heart... "Half-Elven" was part of those many words he had banned from his life and as for this name, Elrond, on some days he wished he would have completely forgotten about it, for he carried it like a burden. But then, it was also part of his sweetest memories, in which he took refuge at times and he surely could not discard this carelessly.

What an odd twist of fate it was, that he had came across yet another Half-Elven.

* * *

He found Gilmith asleep on the pond's bank, nestled between the crooked roots of a great pine tree, and beside her the fire was nothing but a pile of warm ashes from which a string of smoke rose. The flamingos had stayed nearby, instead of flying back to the mudflats where they usually spent their nights at, and in a bush was lurking a fox who had feasted on the calcine hare remainings. It fled when he crouched next to the sleeping girl and crickets resumed their chirping as soon as he had sat, waiting for dawn to come.

It came, as it always did. Stripes of clouds crossed the grey sky and, seeing it, he thought this day would be windy, like the previous one. It would probably slow him down on his way East, but it did not matter. He minded not to spend more time with Gilmith, it would force him to face some of his inner demons, he hoped. And he felt he not quite ready to let her go anyhow, her presence brought something... invigorating to his daily life.

* * *

Gilmith opened her eyes just as a couple of blackbirds started singing, roused by the Sun's light, and she was relieved when her eyes fell upon him. She would probably not admit it, not even to herself, nonetheless she had been afraid he would not come back.

He had drawn features and seemed tired, as much as an Elf could be at least. His black eyebrows were knit together, tighter than usual, and dark circles tarnished his gaze as if he had not slept for a few days in a row. Yet rest would not heal him - that Gilmith could understand it, although she did not quite exactly grasp the nature of his anguish. The fact that she was a Half-Elven upset him, obviously, as it was after she had disclosed the identity of her mother that his mood had gone even more somber. But she knew not why, neither did she know what sort of ties existed between him and lord Elrond, whose name he had clearly refused to hear.

"You caught another rabbit, sir?" That was all she could find to say, for she feared his temper had not improved over the night.

"To be fair, I did not put much effort into it," he said. "This one was hopping by the water and it even nibbled your foot. All I had to do was to extend my arm."

"Poor thing..." Gilmith muttered who felt sorry the rabbit's genuine trust had been so blatantly betrayed.

"You do eat meat, do you not?" he asked, passing her over a bowl full of broth.

"Of course I do." But not hares, she thought. Neither deers, nor boars - none of those wild creatures that, naive and unsuspecting, approached her whenever she was out, in the forest.

"Good, for your face is still pale and you will have to eat more to recover fully."

He was still carefully avoiding to look at her and he acted as if nothing had happened the night before, as if Gilmith had never told him her mother was an Elf. She, on the other side, did her best to catch his gaze, hoping to have an opportunity to ask him questions about the Elven folk - there was so much she could learn from the books of her father's library. But her attemps were vain, for they ate their meal in silence, after what he started to gather their things, once again handing her most of the clothes so the cold wind would do her no harm.

"We should get on our way," he announced at last. "Many leagues stand between us and the nearest inhabitated coastal village, assuming that the corsairs have not reached the areas closer to your home."

"High walls protect our city and a watch is ever kept on the sea," said Gilmith in a voice she wished to be firm, whereas in fact she was only trying to reassure herself.

"It seems unlikely the corsairs would have tried to attack Dor-en-Ernil, considering they sent rather strong forces on this side of the coast," he whispered, speaking to himself. "They would have not bothered with this part of the Anfalas, had they meant to head to your father's land."

"I suppose..." she sighed.

There was too much for her to handle at the moment. The deaths of so many loved ones the night of Fíriel's wedding, the absence of her father and brother, the odd behavior of Dregor and, last but not least, her confession about her mother. The previous night, Gilmith had cried herself to sleep and nothing but exhaustation had stopped tears from rolling down her cheeks.

He had noticed her eyes were puffy and as he was unwilling to see her weep again, he promptly said, "Would mind me carrying you on my back once more, Gilmith? The road ahead of us is not a smooth one, I'm afraid."

"You are kind to ask me, yet I am in no position to decline your offer," she answered, rising laboriously from the ground, and she peered down at her feet - it seemed she could not trust them anymore to support her.

"You will recover fully soon enough," he told her and as he was gesturing to her to climb on his back, his hand slid in her hair, lingered there for a second.

He was unaware of it, yet once Gilmith was all settled, her arms around his neck, her cheeks had reddened and her heart was troubled.

* * *

It was a rather dull day, as a strong wind carried clouds through the sky and it also unleashed great waves that smashed against the cliffs in spectacular explosions of water and foam. He did not talk, neither did he sing, and Gilmith could not fall asleep, for she felt very awkward about being carried on his back and this time there was no darkness and no rain to help her forget she was so close to him. His black hair flew freely behind him, so soft and shiny that many maidens would have been envious of it, and it brushed her face every now and then, increasing her uneasiness.

It was a rather strange feeling and Gilmith thought it was completely ridiculous to let herself be flustered by him. So many other things ought have filled her mind at the moment, yet all she was really thinking about was that never before had she met anyone who smelled this good, like the fresh scent of a summer night. Of course, she had not forgotten about her sadness - her body still ached enough to remind her of the terrible corsairs - and she hoped she would reach her home fast, however... However being on the road with him was like being on a journey far away from all she had known thus far. It was also as if the attack had never happened, as if she were to be greeted by all those who had died in the village once she would be arrive in Dor-en-Ernil. Perhaps it also felt like her mother was not far, because he was an Elf. Could he then be the key to her dearest dream? This foolish dream she'd probably never dare try to make real...

Gilmith would have certainly been suprised, had she known she was not the only pondering over delicate matters. He walked fast, he walked straight, oblivious of the wind, yet he was not entirely sure he had taken the right decision - why bother to head to Belfalas? The girl could have been dropped somewhere inland, after all, he could have left the seashore for a day or two and soon they would have been apart, never to cross each other's path again. But there he was, on his way to the east, resolved to carry Gilmith and not so unhappy about it.

He stopped at dusk, on a small headland where a few trees stood, and after a little exploration, he found the perfect shelter from the wind, between huge rocks that blocked most of the sea breeze. Gilmith was quick to jump down his back and, not wanting him to find out she was unable to take even a few steps, she sat at once, adjusting her cloak. She met his gaze, at last, while he was unloading his harp, and she smiled, a light blush covering her cheeks.

"Has word of your mother's whereabouts reached Belfalas?" he inquired, as he was lighting a fire. He did this swiftly and effortlessly and soon flames provided them with some heat and Gilmith was glad to warm herself up.

"No..." she answered, puzzled. "She sailed to the West I believe, for she was on her way to Edhellond when she met my father."

"Many Elves of Lórien left Middle-Earth during these days," he said, remembering a lot of them fled the forest because the Dwares of Moria had awakened something terrifying in their mines.

"How would you know?"

He had not said it explicitely, however she was under the impression he lead a lonesome life and that his contacts with Elven communities were rare, or perhaps nonexistent.

"Birds keep me informed."

"Birds?" Gilmith repeated, puzzled.

"Seagulls for the most part, though all have helped at time," he told and then he added, in a mutter, "all save for the Eagles."

"The eagles?" she said, but he remained silent.

On his wanderings, he had seen all kinds of birds from the elegant seagulls of the south to the white geese of the north who he had followed sometimes, during their migrations. But the great Eagles, those who were Manwë's eyes, those who had come the Elves' aid during the First Age, those he had never had sight of. Thus he was convinced Valinor was still closed for him and that, were he to sail away like the other Elves, he would not find the road to the West.

"I wish I could follow my mother to wherever she went," Gilmith whispered, echoing his thoughts unknowingly, as she was twisting her hands nervously and staring the crackling fire. "I wish I could travel North to visit Lórien if I am permitted to and I wish to meet some of my mother's kin who still dwell there, are they not all gone already... And then perhaps I would head to the havens of Lindon... Yet these are wishes, just silly wishes, for I would not leave my father, it would break his heart for good."

It was something she had never confessed to anyone, not even to her brother, not even to Fíriel who was - had been? - her best friend. She knew not if Dregor had even listened to what she had just said, for he seemed lost in some daydream, but it did not matter. Now that these words had been spoken, it was as if she had taken one step forward, and what had been an almost shameful longing had grown into a slightly more realistic prospect.

"There was melancholy in your gaze well before the corsairs attacked the village and nearly slain you, was there not?" he said in a soft tone, moving by her side. "These green eyes were ever filled with sadness, am I right, Gilmith?"

She turned to him and for once she was not shy to face him, although her heart ran fast in her chest. Quite fairly, he was a spectacular being and perhaps that was just it, perhaps it could not be helped that a young maiden like her felt fascinated in his presence.

"You look sad yourself," Gilmith told him. "Immensely sad, I daresay."

And the tip of her fingers brushed his cheek, furtively.

"Gilmith..." he muttered, shifting closer to her. His left hand, the one that was not covered with bandages, squeezed her shoulder lightly.

They heard no more the waves and the wind, in silence they stared at each other - she, eyes wide-opened ; he, his brow furrowed - and then he leaned in slowly, as she tilted her head. For a few seconds, his mouth pressed to hers, in a chaste and delicate manner, but it was brief and he soon drew back, stunned by what he had just done. His body had taken over his mind and whatever stirred within him, it made him want to taste her lips again, even though it most definitely was a dangerous move.

Gilmith stayed still, unable to process what had happened, and she was deliciously pretty with her red cheeks and her startled expression, thus he dived in for another kiss, a more intimate and a more passionate one. Whatever worries had been his lately, they had left him already, for he loved - he truly loved - kissing her and, cupping her face, he could not recall having touched something as soft as her skin since he had gone into exile. It was thrilling also to feel her shiver as his hands ran down her back and when he pulled her against him, maneuvering to have her sit on his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck while her cloak slipped down from her shoulders.

Their wild embrace had reached its climax and their lips were seemingly locked for good, for neither of them wished to end this moment. It was Gilmith's first kiss and it came with many surprises, all of them being very pleasant ones - she sighed and moaned more than once as his mouth traveled down her throat to her collabornes, exploring unexpected areas of her body. She had never imagined that being so close to someone, to feel their body against hers, would set afire her senses so furiously. And he, he had forgotten who he was and where he was, he was wrapped up in kisses and caresses, relishing a sensuality he had not experienced since he had left Aman.

It had escalated quickly and awhile he toyed with the idea of undressing her, partially at least, for he was eager to see more of this lovely silhouette of hers - and he did remember how, the day before, he had been moved to see her naked, stepping out the pond. Truth was, he had become seriously aroused, however he could not allow himself to go any further, even if it seemed that Gilmith, hung onto him, would gladly follow his lead.

They broke apart, at last, and he took some time to consider her, gently stroking her face. If he had to be honest, she was not the prettiest maiden he had ever set eyes on and she could hardly be compared to the Noldorin ladies, yet she was very charming and everytime he looked into her green eyes, his heart sank in his chest. He could barely restrain himself and before Gilmith eventually fell asleep in his arms, he kissed her a few more times.

He would have laid her down on the ground, so she would get some proper rest, but minutes passed, then hours, and he still put kisses on her forehead and his hands were still entwined in her hair.

* * *

Some time after midnight, Gilmith's sleep became agitated because of one of these nightmares she experienced ever since the attack of the corsairs. This one seemed particularly violent, for she woke up haggard, breathing heavily, and it took her awhile to remember where she was.

"You are safe," he whispered, tightening his embrace around her. "We are miles away from the village's ruins..."

She had lift her head to look at him, bewildered that he was still holding her in his arms, and in the darkness of this moonless night, his eyes shone like two stars, so brightly that a question came upon her lips at once.

"Who are you?"

She was staring at him earnestly, her chin resting on his chest, and there was such innoncence in her gaze he felt his will wavered.

"Gilmith, are you acquainted at all with the stories of the old days?"

He suspected she knew some of it at least, for she had mentioned Elrond the day before. Also, this knowledge had been passed down through songs and although he had been cut off from the world for quite a while already, he was aware the Númenóreans had preserved most of the ancient lore, and so had their descendants in Middle-earth.

"No more, no less than most people in our realm..." she answered, closing her eyes when he put a kiss on her brow.

She was under the impression he was old, even for an Elf, however she had no idea what it meant concretely - Gilmith was only nineteen and a mere century seemed a lot to her. Outwardly, he had the appearance of a young man, one the maidens would have swooned at unanimously, but he spoke like an elder and he had the eyes of someone who had seen many summers pass by and, who had been the witness of countless tragedies.

"Then surely you... you must have heard of the War of the Jewels?"

"I did."

"You might not be familiar with my name, for few lais mention it," he said in low voice, his breath brushing her ear. "Yet I'm afraid my father's name is quite famous."

"Who was he?"

"He was Fëanor, the eldest son of Finwë."

Indeed, Gilmith knew this name, and what was traditionnaly associated to it - Fëanor's Silmarils, Fëanor's oath, Fëanor's sons...

"Thus you are..." She could not recall which of the seven sons of Fëanor was still alive, actually she had believed they all had perished before the end of the First Age...

"I am Fëanor's only surviving son, Maglor."

* * *

These two are not very good at communicating, are they?

Gilmith being from a noble family (and a descendant of Númenóreans) it seems likely she had some sort of knowledge about the old days. Although she probably was more interested in the history of the Second Age, because of Númenor and because that's when we start hearing about Lórien.


	4. Skins

**Hil:** I partially answer your question in this chapter, for the rest, we'll see later ;). But I'd say in general I try to stick to the text and it's made pretty clear Elves don't marry twice and don't commit adultery either (with some notable exceptions, of which Maglor wouldn't be part). As for Maglor being attractive, it isn't really my doing, his parents deserve all the credit for that I suppose haha. But seriously, I think most fans already have made up their own image of him so surfing on this isn't too complicated. Anyways thank you again, I'm glad you liked the kiss scene, I did put some extra work into it since I wanted it to be smooth...

* * *

 **4\. Skins**

After having disclosed his name, Maglor had decided that was quite enough talk for the moment, since he had no desire to rehash tales of the older days.

Gilmith's reaction, or rather her lack of reaction, to his confession had been unexpected and he knew not how to interpret her silence on the matter. Was she simply too weary to discuss or was she cooled down to be in presence of a murderer? Either ways, they both had chosen to break away from one another and Gilmith had spent the rest of the night curled up by the fire while he had stayed nearer the rocks, resting against them. He wished the night had no been so clouded, for he missed the stars and above all, it would have soothed his heart to see Eärendil's star - that light ever was the brightest.

When morning came, Maglor wondered if time had not come for he and Gilmith to part. He had kissed her, and still desired her greatly, and he had also told her about his true identity, which meant he had completely lost control of the situation. This mere infatuation - what else could it be? - would only lead him to more disasters which was exactly what he wished to avoid, at all cost. For centuries, his whole existence had been dedicated to repentance and this stern lifestyle was perhaps his sole chance at one day earning forgiveness, he believed. He could not ruin this for a girl, Half-Elven or not, could he?

Anyhow, Gilmith probably would refuse to journey with him any longer and soon he would not have to worry about her at all.

* * *

Gilmith woke up quite early, yet she moved not, for she needed to recollect her thoughts before facing him. However her concerns were far from being those he imagined - she cared more about the kisses than his father's name. Of course she was familiar with the stories of Fëanor and of his sons, they were included in most songs sung about the great deeds of the First Age, the age of the Heroes, which her own father was quite fond of. Their part was far from being the most glorious and if they had indeed fight against the Dark Enemy, they had also slain many innocents in their attempts to fulfill their Oath. But to Gilmith it was but distant echoes of ancient days, it was just folklore, and she could hardly link the Maglor who had saved her with the Maglor who had lead attacks on the realm of Doriath, a mythical place she did not relate to.

What really troubled Gilmith was that she had crossed a line, that she did not consider him anymore only as her savior, but that she now thought of him tenderly, hoping his arms would hold her once more. It was a distrastous idea to let herself fall in love with an Elf, let alone a prince born in the West - in all regards, he outranked her outright. And, whatever folk her mother belonged to, was she not, after all, fated to wed a man of Gondor?

Finally, she opened her eyes, turning around. She caught his gaze at once and it was hard to guess what could be going on his mind at the moment, for his face was cold and still like marble. His dark hair flowing in the wind, he was terribly handsome and in a way, torment suited him well, enhancing his sharp features.

"Lord Maglor," Gilmith blurted as she sat up, "it was a ridiculous decision we made, when we chose to follow the shore. I should head inland, where my people went."

She dared not to stare at him long, it brought back flashes of their embrace, the night before. The taste of his lips was still on hers and she remembered too keenly how delightful it had been to fall asleep in his arms. She certainly could not afford to blush now.

"Indeed you are right, Gilmith," he said, glancing at the ocean. "I suppose I should suffer to be away from the sea for a few days..."

She noticed he had left by her side a small pouch, filled with dried fruits and nuts. It was breakfast, but she felt in a hurry to leave as fast as possible, thus she pocketed it and proceeded to wrap up her clothes, making sure she was well covered. The sky was dark and it looked like some storm would come from the sea.

"I am deeply sorry I cannot walk myself, otherwise rest assured I would find my way alone to the closest village."

And there she stood as firmly as she could, owing it more to her pride than to her strength.

"There is no need for you to feel sorry," he told her and he put his hand on her head, bending down to take a closer look at her, adding, "I understand well you miss family, I shall walk fast, Gilmith."

How long could they pretend to be strangers to one another, Maglor knew not, yet he did as he had said and soon the sea was behind them, and so the seagulls, who would not follow them further inland.

* * *

The forest was one of tall stone pines, lean cypresses and magnificent maple and oak trees. There were also myrtle and pistacia shrubs, flourishing happily under the Sun, and every now and then Maglor would accidently hit a cone pine, for many were scattered on the ground. In his centuries of lonesome wandering, he had left the seaside a few times only and had not gone very far inland - he had never laid eyes on those places that were well-known in Middle-Earth, whether it'd be Men cities, or great forests inhabitated by Elves.

This time, it would be a short incursion, that he ought have done before, had he been wiser. Anfalas was not very populated, the equivalent of barely a third of Belfalas' population was scattered in these lands, yet had he been willing to leave the sea shore earlier, he and Gilmith would have parted days ago already. He still was not convinced it had entirely been a mistake to let her, though he could easily list the reasons he should have not told her his real name, but perhaps a little tenderness had done no harm, perhaps it had soothed his heart, if only for one night...

He would almost rejoice she could not walk, she was but a light weigth on his back and since her head leaned on his shoulder, her hair tickled softly his neck. He realized he would have been happy to bring her back all the way to Dor-en-Ernil, however he also deemed he did not deserve the pleasure of her company and Gilmith should not tarry by his side, lest she be badly hurt.

The trail of his thoughts was interupted, some time in the late afternoon, when he heard her cry. Thus far, Gilmith had mostly weep when she had been alone, or silently, so he would not notice, but she seemed not trying to restrain herself anymore and Maglor took pity on her, once more.

"You shall see your father and your brother soon enough, by horse you will be able to reach your home within a week," he told her, unable to ignore her sniffing any longer.

"Perhaps... that is not the reason I am crying however."

There was more than one reason she felt miserable, yet he would not probably not guess what had triggered her tears.

"Tell me, then," Maglor said after a long silence.

"I am no Half-Elven, I am just a daughter of Gondor..." Gilmith muttered.

"You looked quite Elven to me. I must admit that at first I really did wonder what you were doing in this small village of Anfalas, as I was under the impression you were an Elf."

"They call me Edhelwen when my father is not around, for they say I bear great ressemblance with my mother," she explained. "However that does not make me an Elf, does it? Upon seeing you, upon sharing your life, even just for a few weeks, I do realize I am just a young girl who will one day wed, have children, grow older and then die... I had foolishingly hoped that meeting a real Elf would change things, that it would trigger some unknown powers, hidden within me... What an idiot I have been... I am no Half-Elven and I am not alike my mother, I simply am my father's daughter."

Her brother Galador questioned himself much less about these matters, having always felt he belonged to Gondor and to the race of Men in general, and worst than that, he had never truly understood how she felt herself about her identity. The very idea that Gilmith could share more than likeness with their mother's folk was beyond what he could fathom, thus she had mostly been left alone to ponder about these issues, listing all those differences that set her apart from the other young girls.

"The other Half-Elvens, they were given a choice over their fate," said Maglor, at length. "They were offered this freedom, to be either Man, either Elf."

"By whom?"

"The Powers of the West."

Gilmith smiled sadly through her tears, having expected this answer.

"My cause will surely not move them, for if they still watch over Middle-Earth, then their attention must be focused on the East and on Mordor."

Even Maglor could not foresee what the outcomes of such a situation could be, since he knew not if the cases of Elrond, Elros and their family had been a one of a kind exception, or if the Valar consider the plead of another Half-Elven. "This is but my humble advice I am giving you Gilmith, yet I believe you should do as you dream to."

"As I dream to...?"

"Go North, go to Lórien where you shall be welcomed by the Galadhrim, no doubt. There the Lady of Wood shall give you good counsel, should you wonder who you truly are."

"The Lady of the Wood," repeated Gilmith, thoughtful. "Does she know you still wander on the shores of this world?"

"Mayhaps..." he whispered somberly. "Although she most probably does not waste her time pondering over the likes of me."

"Is she not of your kin, though?" To forget her own gloominess, Gilmith had tried remembering those old genealogy trees she had glimpsed once or twice in scrolls her Númenórean ancestors had brought from their island - she would been unable to list all of Finwë's descendants, but she was sure the Lady of the Wood and Maglor were related.

"Indeed..." he growled.

She could not see his face, however she guessed he was scowling and it put an end to her inquiries. At least she cried no more.

* * *

"Are you hungry perchance?"

The question came out of nowhere, as the Sun had set down hours ago. It had suddenly hit Maglor that Gilmith was still fragile and food was perhaps the best medicine these days.

"A little, but do no stop on my account," she said, her voice hoarse. "I can nibble on a few nuts."

"No, you need a proper meal, I saw your legs shaking while you struggled to stand up this morning and had you been less stubborn, you would have collapsed," he said, almost scolding her. "Yet do not worry, it will be but a short halt, for I do not intend to sleep this night so we shall progress fast."

It was not difficult to find a small glade and Maglor had thrown his cloak on the mossy ground for her to sit on it and once the flames of the fire he had quickly lit rose into the night's cold air, this corner of the forest where they stood started feeling homely indeed. He went to gather some pine nuts, which he brought back in abundance, along with berries, thyme leaves and fresh water. As he peeled the nuts, Gilmith, who was eating all he gave her, gazed at him absentmindedly, thinking he was quite agile for someone with such large hands, especially since his right hand was wrapped in a tight bandage.

"Your hand!" she exclaimed softly, baffled she had not understood this earlier. "You... you threw a Silmaril into the ocean, with this hand..."

Maglor froze for a few seconds, frowning.

"Yes, it burned my flesh, deeply," he admitted, reluctant. "As the songs go, it is true I was not worthy of holding the jewel anymore, for sins had tainted my soul... and this pain reminds me everyday of the crimes I committed."

Heaving a sigh, he proceeded to untie the bandage, wincing as he did so, and his bare skin was exposed - it was red, raw, and covered with blisters, some whole, some ripped, as if the wounds were fresh, whereas they had been inflicted to him millennia ago. Considering these, Gilmith thought it was actually a miracle he could still move his fingers, for it look extremely sore.

"It has not healed since then," she whispered, gaping. "And... you have been wandering along the shores ever since?"

"This is all there is left for me to do," he replied bluntly.

"Could you not... seek forgiveness? Have not those years of loneliness brought you to atone for your deeds? For I am not the only one person you have saved, am I?"

She was unsure about whether there was some sort of procedure High Elves had to go through in order to be allowed back in Valinor, or if such a thing existed. However he came from the Undying Lands, perhaps he even knew these Powers ruling the West, and Gilmith believed there was a chance for him to plead his cause - she'd certainly forgive him, but it was just her growing feelings for him that made her so compassionate towards him.

"I did save a few people, mostly from shipwrecks... but not nearly as much as I have seen perished because of me. As for forgiveness, I have long felt I do not deserve it."

"To me, you simply are the one I owe my life to," she reflected.

"And to numerous others I am a ruthless murderer."

"One day the number of people you have saved might outweight the number of people you have... slain."

"'Tis my only hope," he confessed, bitterly.

Maglor found himself to be too restless to stay seated by a fire and he rose. "If you have eaten enough, I suggest we go already, Gilmith," he announced, quickly wrapping his hand, once again. "Behind this forest lie fields and I would wager that more than one cottage could welcome you, over there."

While he stomped out the fire to extinguish it, almost hurriedly, Gilmith regretted having brought up the matter of his injured hand. It most probably had been the last meal they woud share, however modest it had been, and she had ruined it, forcing him to display wounds he surely would have kept for himself.

"You told me you never left the seaside, how can you know..."

"I also told you birds keep me informed." and he added, sighing, "I... I told you too much... have I not...".

His hand had found hers. There were many underlying feelings lingering between them and pretending nothing had happened could only last so long, yet none of them would speak those words, none would face their emotions.

"Perhaps I was too chatty myself," she said, entwining her fingers with his.

"To each his own issues."

"I would not dare compare mine to yours."

"It is about time we depart," Maglor finally said, "I might be able to drop you right on one of those farmhouses' doorstep before dawn."

"I am ready," Gilmith whispered and she managed to produce a feeble smile, despite the sadness that filled her eyes.

Those beautiful green eyes, they were Maglor's weak spot. He ought have avoided her gaze, he should have known better. Yet it was too late. He felt drawn to her, irresistibly.

A light stroke on her cheek would not mean much, he tought, and one last kiss would not hurt, would it?

So they kissed and they fooled themselved into believing it was just a way of saying farewell, that in a few minutes he would release her and that they would resume their travel. But neither Maglor, neither Gilmith tried to resist their desire for one another, on the contrary they slowly fell on their knees and as he kept bending down, she ended up lying on her back, beside the pile of ashes that had been a fire moments ago. The grass and the moss felt comfortable enough, however Gilmith was not preoccupied by the bedding, for she was too busy keeping up with his caresses and his increasing ardor.

Soon Maglor's hands slid under her dresses, however he proceeded carefully, eyeing her reactions every now and then to make sure he did well, for he too had stepped into new territories. These loving gestures were unknown to him as much as they were to her and it simply was up to them both to make these discoveries together. To his relief, little Gilmith soon proved to be very eager and willing, climbing onto him and fumbling with the ties of his tunic. His mouth against hers, he smiled and quickly took off his clothes himself, revealing his lean and surprisingly toned torso. Awhile they kissed some more, happily playing with each other, while Gilmith removed her own garments, one by one, and once she was completely naked, they rolled, he ending on top of her - relishing his position.

For a second, he was reminded they were in a forest, for an owl had hooted in a nearby tree, and, being reminded the air was crisp, he threw a blanket over them - they would easily keep themselves warm underneath it. The two of them were well aware of what they were about to do, yet when their gazes locked, as he was about to enter in her, there was not the faintest trace of hesitation in their eyes. Their yearning was mutual, thus Maglor bent down, cupping her face and kissing her, and he went ahead, feeling Gilmith's fingers stroke the back of his neck.

Maglor knew not exactly how it worked, however caution dictated him to go slowly and when all of him was inside her, he stopped. He woud have asked her if she felt alright, but instead he merely stared at her, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath lightly brushing her face. Her green eyes wide open, Gilmith was a little surprised at the sensation, yet it did not hurt that much, or perhaps it was just that the pain was much lighter than what she had gone through over the last weeks.

In any case, she did not want him to worry uselessly so she kissed him before he could say anything, hungry to taste his lips. She also wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, drawing him even closer to her, and the feeling of their bare skin rubbing together was terribly exquisite. He took this as a signal and he began thrusting, gently and deeply, while his mouth traveled down from her own mouth to her throat, and then on her collarbones, and at last on her breast, her soft round breast - how delicious it was. It took him some remarkable self-control to keep a steady pace, for he felt himself maddening with pleasure, but he did his best to focus on his caresses on her. And it paid off, at length Gilmith let out a small moan, the first of many.

In the end, their enjoyment was different, his plainly being the greatest. He had let out a long groan, a sound he had never imagined could come out of his mouth ever, and thinking about it afterwards made him feel somehow bashful.

"It hurt you, did it not?" asked Maglor after he had locked his arms around her, not unhappy to hold such a cute prisonner.

"Barely."

"I was too... rough, you are still recovering after all."

These words caused Gilmith to chuckle and she realized it had been weeks since she had last laughed.

"If the beam was not enough to break me, then surely I can handle some fierce cuddling."

"You are a small twig," he said, smiling and putting a kiss on the tip of her nose, "yet I have to admit you are surprisingly strong."

She was still giggling a little and her fingers were softly moving on his face, tracing his features, as if she wished to remember exactly where everything was. Then her expression grew serious and concern clouded her green gaze.

"Don't you... don't you have a wife already?" she inquired, ashamed she had not wondered about this earlier.

"I never was wedded," Maglor told her, earnestly.

However, in what seemed to be another life, he had been betrothed to a lovely Noldorin lady and, with a little concentration, he could still remember how sweet flirting with her had been. Yet sweet was all it had ever been, whereas, when he looked at Gilmith, he did feel great fondness for her, but he also ached with desire - a stinging and burning sensation that pierced through his chest, leaving him instatisfied, all the time.

"How come?"

"It never happened... The exile changed our lives, the Oath took away everything I ever had and everyone I ever loved..."

Gilmith saw great grief fill his grey eyes and for a few endless seconds, she felt at loss. She suddenly feared he would lose himself in his sorrows and, helpless, she did all she could to soothe his pain - she kissed him.

* * *

Gilmith was asleep, huddled against him, a peaceful expression spread across her face. He ought have been thinking she was adorable, he ought have stroked her cheek or run his fingers through her hair, however making love to her once more was all that was on his mind. He wanted to press her closer to him, to feel her breast squeezed against his chest and his hands... if he only could slide his hands down her back and lift her up just a little bit. He was all hard again, it almost hurt - how could he be such a fool and believe that what had happened last night would quench his lust? It was just keener than ever...

However he was not experiencing mere lust, for, lurking in his heart, there was also something else, far more delightful and far more dangerous.

* * *

I've tried to think of Maglor as some historical/legendary character, because that is what he is to Gilmith. She knows he was responsible for the death of many people, but it was long ago, on a continent that no more exists, so it's hard to relate to it, so she would not be especially horrified at what he has done (and well, he was not too bad either...). And after all, she came to know him simply as an Elf who saves lives whenever he can.

It was difficult to write a sex scene without being too explicit about it O.o also I pretty much have never read stuff like this in English so I had to check what sort of vocab was appropriate (and decided I would not name any intimate parts in the end haha) Also I said I usually try to stick to the text, yet sex before marriage would be a big no-no then haha.

These two are a weird match, in the sense that he is of a much more high rank than she, even though her mother really was an Elf. A prince of the Noldor is definitely AAA while a Silvan Elf would be A at best, and Gilmith is half human so... (not that I have anything against Wood Elves but it is stated their culture is rudimentary compared to that of the Sindarin, so imagine how they looked beside the fancy Noldor). But hey, if Beren managed to wed Lúthien, anything is possible.


	5. Haven

University has been draining all my energy lately and I have to admit I felt pretty miserable to be held away from fanfics (and books in general).

* * *

 **5\. Haven**

 **Anfalas, T.A. 2028 mid-October**

They were walking on the beach, bare feet, and they were holding hands. Gilmith's face glowed and her long brown hair flew in the wind, like a banner, while she giggled everytime the waves came tickling her toes. She had gained some weight back, her pink cheeks were plumper and her green eyes sparkled with carefree happiness. Beside her, Maglor too was metamorphosed and these days a smile ever lingered on his lips, taking off his handsome face the weight of many years of suffering. For a while at least, his wanderings on the seashore no more were a burden, on the contrary it had become a pleasant stroll, as if he actually had chosen to do it, as if it was not a curse.

Gilmith now was allowed to walk, on the strict condition that he was to decide when she had exercised enough, for she herself tended to overlook her limits and, on mornings, they had taken the habit of going around the beach, singing - he had taught her many beautiful songs - and discussing whatever matter crossed their minds. By then, it was obvious to both of them they had fallen in love with one another, most definitely, and it scared them at times, although neither dared voice their worries aloud. Slowly, they were heading towards Dor-en-Ernil and they were well aware their days together were numbered - even the scenery around them changed, as the limestone cliffs of the Anfalas made place to small hills and neatly drawn fields.

There were also more and more villages, connected by a road that became wider and wider, and at dusk they could see smoke rise from the cottages' chimneys. Maglor knew perfectly well how to avoid places where Men could be met and although it had not been said, Gilmith was to stay with him until they were to sight her father's tower. It was a short periode of time they had left to spend together, but they made the most it, delighted by the sweetness of each other's company.

And sometimes also, delicate matters were brought up, usually by Gilmith who was very curious about Elves in general and Maglor in particular.

"Have you ever thought of going North yourself, to Imladris where dwells lord Elrond?"

She knew he liked not hearing this name, yet he barely winced at the mention of it - she barely felt his hand squeezing hers harder, for a brief moment.

"No," Maglor answered sternly, "even if I were to sail West one day, I would leave these lands without having set my eyes on Imladris, for I certainly do not belong there."

"I was under the impression that you and lord Elrond were rather..." Gilmith was not sure there was a word to describe their relationship properly. Maglor had fostered lord Elrond and his brother, king Elros, however he was also the very reason the children had been parentless to begin with, or at least thus it was relayed by the songs of old.

"Close?" he mused, the ghost of a smile passing on his lips. "Well, Maedhros and I fostered them indeed... I did raise Elrond and his brother and for years I cared for them, as if they were my own sons. They have known me longer than they knew their parents, and I was the one who soothed their fears at night, the one who taught them to write, to sing, I..."

As he heaved a sigh, Gilmith shyly asked, "You loved them genuinely, did you not?"

"Indeed, love grew between us... I did all I could to make them happy despite the terrible years we have been through together," Maglor confessed. "However it was clear all along our paths would part at some point, for I was still bound by the Oath whereas their destinies were far more brilliant than mine."

"Have you... Have you bid them farewell knowingly then?"

"Yes, I bid them farewell long ago, when the world as we had known it had been destroyed by decades of war, when at last the Enemy had been defeated," he replied. "They were young and a life full of promises lied ahead of them, thus Maedhros and I let them go... Terrible deeds we had to accomplish, for the Oath tormented us still, and the least we could do was to spare them from seeing this darker side of us... In fact, we wished to protect them from ourselves and to preserve their innocence. Is it not perfectly ridiculous, though ? After all, we had ruined their lives already, by attacking the havens, by slaining their people..."

"Yet... nothing prevents you from visiting him? Or... is there...?"

"Physically, there is nothing that prevents me from travelling North, that is true..." Maglor shrugged - there were no barriers in Middle-earth, except those he had set for himself.

"Then why would it not be a happy reunion, were you to go to Imladris?"

It had been bothering her for days, weeks already. Gilmith knew she was rather powerless, there was not much she could undertake to help him, however she was convinced lord Elrond woud be able to do something - what exactly, it was a mystery. The Lady of the Wood was said to hold great powers too, yet Maglor seemed to fear her somehow, and would he not be more willing to listen to the one he considered his son? And perhaps if Gilmith's own opinion of him was worthed well nigh nothing, for she was a clueless nineteen years old Half-Elven of Gondor, who had fallen head over heels for him, would not the Powers of the West take in consideration mighty and wise lord Elrond's words?

"There, I would be a ghost, Gilmith. Nothing but a bloody ghost of the old days."

"You seem quite real to me..." she said, entwining her fingers with his.

"What I am to most of these Elves of the North is what those pirates of Umbar are to you, far worse even. Thus how could they welcome me among them? And why should they?"

"But what if-"

"I won't go, Gilmith," he said, his brow furrowed, his eyes shining fiercely. "And it is not up to the Elves of Imladris, or of Lórien for that regard, to judge me for those... terrible crimes I committed. I shall not obtain forgiveness from them, thus I would rather not face them."

Gilmith felt anguished, for she had come to believe that going to see lord Elrond would be a good first step, towards _his_ healing.

"I shall never be able to help you, shall I?" she whispered, as she stopped walking.

When he had first found her in the village, she might have been the one in dire need of help, yet she had come to realize he needed more rescue than she did and that in the end, between the two of them, his toments were the worst - and perhaps no other Elf had suffered like he did.

"You do not have to help me," he told her, facing her and running his thumb on her cheek. "These days we are spending together are already too much for an old fiend like me and I am underserving of this bliss. Gilmith, it is an unexpected bliss you have brought me already and I shall never be able to thank you like you ought be."

* * *

On the first days of November, they came in view of the abandoned haven of Edhellond, a grey silhouette of houses and towers settled by the river Morthond. Its last inhabitants had fled some fourty years ago, when king Amroth had died, drowning in the sea, but the city still stood, frozen in time. Bushes and ivy grew freely on roads and walls and a flock of storks had taken up residence on roofs, building their giant nests on the highest places. Otherwise, Edhellond was nearly intact, as if the Elves were to come back any time soon.

Gilmith and her brother knew well the haven, for it was one of their favorite playgrounds and they had spent many days there, when their father had been away, in the countryside or in Minas Tirith. Whenever they could, they had escaped there, not really sure of what they were hoping to find in these houses - mere echos of the past, perhaps. And that was all there was left there, old stones and worm-eaten wood, yet she and Galador had always loved to pretend some treasure had been hidden among the silent stones of Edhellond. And when once they had found a small silver brooch, adorned with golden leaves, they had decided it had belonged to their mother and they had kept it preciously, in a small box - to that day, none of them had been able to get rid of.

"Fifty miles stand between here and my city," Gilmith said, as they passed the archway where the eastern gates had once been. "And there are small towns scattered nearly everywhere along the road, most of the farmers would recognize me..."

"You are almost home, indeed."

Unlike her, Maglor had never stepped into Edhellond, neither had he entered a city since the end of the First Age. This one might have be abandoned decades ago, yet it was a strange feeling to find himself surrounded by walls.

"Yes, it even smells a bit like home..."

In a way, Gilmith was happy, for she would be reunited with her father and her brother, at long last. They were her very life and she missed them immensely - it was even worst to think they believed her to be dead. However, she no more was the ingenuous maiden that had gone to attend Fíriel's wedding, excited to travel on her own and to dance with young men. She had become someone else, somehow older and perhaps a tad wiser too and, above all else, she had fallen in love with Maglor, deeply, irresistibly. Truth be told, at first she had thought it was a mere infatuation, for a little girl like her could hardly resist a tall and strong Elf like him, especially since he was so mysterious and somber. Yet it now was clear she had not been blinded by his looks, Gilmith knew she would simply never love someone else the way she loved him.

"I suppose we ought spend the night somewhere in here," Maglor said, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

"Can we?" wondered Gilmith, leaning her head against his chest.

"The landlords surely won't mind."

They gazed around, at the empty streets, and a few seagulls flew above their heads - those had been following them for a while already.

"It is a special place to me," Gilmith confessed, "it is connected to my mother, a little at least."

"Where should we head then?" he asked, peering at her, a soft smile on lips.

"There is a tower overlooking South, I do recall it is in excellent shape."

It was not hard to find, for it was a small white tower, with a copper roof, and its doors were wide-opened, welcoming almost. Maglor and Gilmith climbed up the stairs, ignoring the different rooms they came across for the time being, and in a few minutes, they found themselves on a vast terrace with a magnificent bird's-eye view on rive Morthond and the sea. The land looked very familiar to Gilmith and among the woods and farms, her eyes caught the purple spots of lavender fields - she could almost smell it. And farther, on the highest hill of the area, there was her father's city, there was home, this place the people of Gondor had slowly started naming Dol Amroth.

She was far-sighted and even from such a long distance she could see the silver-upon-blue banner of her house flowing above her father's house. Gilmith had long dreamed one of the swan ships would bring her wherever her mother had gone, but this time her thoughts strayed elsewhere. The Undying Lands, she'd probably never reached, however she could sail North quite easily - had not her father some kin dwelling up there, in Eriador?

"I will go North some day, I know not when, but I will visit all those places I have been dreaming of since childhood. There has always been a longing within me... it grows keener whenever my eyes fell on the ocean."

Gilmith would have been unable to put to words this feeling, neither could she remember what had triggered it - her mother's vanishing perhaps, or it simply was in her Númenórean blood.

"The Sea calls us home, that is why," said Malgor who had turned his back to the balcony and the landscape - his attention was focused on her solely.

"Humans like me can sense it too then?"

"Gilmith, I doubt your fate has been settled already," he said slowly, weighing every one of his words, "you could still follow your mother, to whatever shores she sailed..."

"What...?" she breathed, gaping.

"These are only my personal assumptions, and whatever the truth is, you shall discover it on your journey to the North..." Maglor told her, very seriously. "A journey that you will have to undertake without me, for I am doomed and would not risk you to be."

Gilmith took his right hand, the injured one, in hers, patting the bandages with caution and gentleness. Surely his wounds would heal one day, surely he would be forgiven... alas she would not be there to witness it, she thought, tears filling her eyes.

"Are we not both yearning to see our mothers once more?" she whispered, her chin trembling, her voice wavering. "That is maybe when our paths shall cross again... on the other side."

Maglor's gaze shifted from the sky to her and he considered her awhile, silently. Perhaps it was the scenery around them, this old abandonned haven, or perhaps it was just that he had grown so used of having her by his side, but a keen sadness pierced through his chest when his his eyes met hers. He felt not sorry for himself, for he was convinced he had been blessed with undeserved bliss, but guilt at his own cowardice assailed him - had he not utterly failed at protecting her?

"Gilmith, go seek out your origins, but I beg of you, do take care of you and do always think of yourself before you think of me."

His silky black hair framed his anxious face and his bright grey eyes were crushed by his frowned eye brows. It was quite horrifying how pain and sadness strained his handsome features and it certainly was too much to bear for Gilmith - she stifled a sob and threw herself in his arms.

* * *

Eventually, after the Sun had set out in the West, they went down to explore a few of the tower's rooms and in most of them furniture was still in place, untouched for decades and covered with thick layers of dust. Then they found a bed, a large four poster bed, and though he cared not for comfort, Gilmith hardly could hide her excitment at the prospect of spending one night on a soft mattress, not matter how pleasant it had been to sleep under the stars in Maglor's arms. Outside, the weather had turned much colder over the last days, thus it was also a relief they would be in a real house, sheltered from the wind.

"Would it be alright to light a fire?" Gilmith asked, probing the fireplace.

"Would not the villagers notice the smoke?" he retorted, sitting on the bed, after having removed its shabby cover.

"I think not," she said, moving towards him.

"Later, I shall go find some wood then."

"Thank you". And she bent down to kiss his forehead, with delight. Weeks ago she would have never dared to act so freely around him, she reflected.

Maglor was quick to slide an arm around her waist, scooping her on his lap, and he brushed away her curl from her forehead. Whereas Gilmith had a playful smile on her lips, his expression was serious, almost solemn, as his hands cupped her face and he took a few moments to look at her up close, before he spoke.

"I should have delivered you to your people earlier, it was highly selfish of me to indulge in... in... my desires," he muttered. "That was a great weakness from my part and it only shall hurt you in the end."

His grey eyes filled with sadness, although a light ever shone brightly in them - and she now understood why it was so fascinating, it was the light of the Trees, the memory of happier times.

"Please do not pity me," said Gilmith, running her hand through his hair. "I won't bear that you look at me like this. and I won't let you take all the blame for what happened... I may not be tall like you, I may not be mighty like you and I may be young still, yet I willingly chose to stay with you and I never fooled myself into believing it would last forever."

"Oh but it shall last forever, Gilmith," he sighed heavily, "in my heart at least."

Facing the melancholy that had seized him, she felt helpless once more and at loss for words. On a few occurences, she had had the fluttering impression it was in her power to release him from his burden - some of it at least -, yet every one of his smiles, of his laughters, of his joyful songs had ever been followed by flickers of grief in his gaze. And Gilmith was now so terrified at the thought of her contributing to his despair, she could only kiss him, in the hope that the touch of her lips on his would convey her feelings better than any speech would. Their kiss lasted long, and when they broke away, her forehead rested against his, while his thumbs ran up and down her jawline.

Her eyes were still closed, as she whispered, "Are you not a little happy when we are together or has it been all worthless?"

Maglor pulled her closer, closing the gap between them, and his hold was strong, his fingers digging in her back.

"Ever since... Ever since I started wandering, my life has mostly been spent dwelling in memories, but over the last few weeks I have fully lived in the present," he said, his breath warming her neck and shoulder. "And I have stored enough beautiful moments in my mind to last for the upcoming millenia."

"Maglor, I..." her voice trailed, her mouth still opened, and she fell silent, hesitating. Gilmith had a confession to make, one that had been lingering in her thoughts for long, however lately she wondered if it would not be wiser to keep these words to herself.

He had understood what she had been about to say, it seemed, and he acknowledged it, kissing her. Maglor put everything in his kiss and there was something a little desperate at way his mouth moved on hers. Gilmith felt herself collapsed against him and as their embrace grew wilder, her brown curls got tangled with his black hair - soon they rolled on the bed and indeed the softness of the mattress was a nice a change from the grass and the undegrowth. Making love outside, under the stars, had been vastly pleasant, yet the bed, its sheets, its pillows, brought quite a different experience, making it somehow more official.

It was so easy for Gilmith to let loose her imagination and while he showered her with kisses and caresses, she pretended they were newlyweds - just happily married, laying in their own chamber for the first time. Maglor always proceeded with such tenderness and skillfulness, her skin shivered under his gentle touch and already she heard herself moan. Gilmith too had learned a thing or two over the weeks and she knew what drove him crazy, for she had discovered a few sweet spots of his. She marveled at how her mouth and fingers could so swiftly turn this regal looking Elf, with his sharp features and sparkling grey eyes, into a lusty male who groaned when his pleasure reached its climax.

It always ended up with the two of them wrapped in a tight embrace and they had spent whole nights like this, delighted to have found each other. This time however, Maglor did not linger long in bed and as soon as his breath had steadied, he rose, after having whispered into her ear, "Stay here, I will go fetch some wood."

Curled up beneath bedsheets and cloaks, Gilmith was lost in her silly newlyweds fantaisies when he came back, carrying boughs and bottles of water. The crackling sound of fire brought her back to reality, that and the smell of a delicious soup - strangely enough, Maglor was quite a skilled cook, ever managing to turn plain ingredients into tasteful meals.

Gilmith took a few sips from the bowl he handed her, but soon tossed it aside, on a wooden nightstand. Maglor had sat on the bed, beside her, and she was more eager to huddle herself in his arms than to have dinner, although she expected to be scolded.

"Eat a little more," he told her, grabbing the bowl and putting it in her hands. "You need to put some flesh on these delicate bones of yours, young lady."

"Yes, sir," Gilmith agreed, giggling, and she diligently chugged the whole bowl.

Seconds after, she began to feel drowsy, but it did not matter, he was still holding her against him. Her limbs were numb, her eyelids heavy, and she leaned her head against his chest, closing her eyes. She barely was aware he had taken the bowl from her hands so it would not fall - obviously she had been more weary than she had known.

"Do not worry, dear Gilmith, I will take care of everything," Maglor muttered to her, as she seemed completely asleep.

She heard him though and she swore to herself she would not keep her feelings to herself anymore. On the morrow, she would tell him she loved him. She would tell him she'd never wed another, be he Man or Elf. She would tell him these weeks with him were worth more than a lifetime with anyone else .

She'd surely tell him all this on the morrow.

* * *

Maglor refering to himself as an 'old fiend' seems harsh, but objectively, he and his brothers were responsible for quite a number of deaths back then.


	6. Tears

**Guest:** Thank you very much for your kind words! I wish I could have updated a little faster still.

 **Hilalc:** Thank you! I'm afraid it is the end for now :(

I'm afraid this chapter is more of a short conclusion, I wanted a clean cut (and had originally planned no more than 5 chapters).

* * *

 **6\. Tears**

 **Dol Amroth - November 2028 T.A.**

When Gilmith opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the ceiling. For a second, she wondered what she was doing _inside_ , whereas she had spent the last month and a half outside, sleeping under the stars.

Her limbs felt too heavy to move, for she had awaken from a strangely deep slumber, and it took her some time to recollect her thoughts - she had been with Maglor, in Edhellond, in the small tower, on a real bed...

Yet the ceiling was white, and not grey, and it was ornated with pretty and intricate fixtures the Elves had never bothered with in their haven. There was something suspicious about the bedsheets too, for they were clean and soft and she could tell they had been ironed not long ago. And although it was night, she clearly could see there was no more dust around her, the cold had turned into pleasant warmth, and there was this lingering smell in the air - the familiar odor of lavender and sea salt...

She felt a hand pressed hers and she heard a voice, with a distinct worried tone, whisper, "Gilmith... can your hear me, sweet one?"

It was a male voice, one she was very familiar with, yet one she had perhaps least expected to hear.

"Father?!" she exclaimed, shaking her head to chase away some of her numbness.

Her eyes landed on him and she could not quite believe what she saw. Lord Imrazôr sat in an armchair, by the bed, and everything about him was slightly messy, from his puffy sleep deprived eyes to his dark blue tunic that he had obviously been wearing for many days in a row, judging from how worn and shabby it looked. He had leaned over, his gaze full of fright, and his fingers brushed her forehead gently.

"How are you feeling...? Do you... do you hurt anywhere?"

"I am perfectly fine, Father, trust me," she told him, raising herself slowly from the bed.

Gilmith was also completely bewildered and her mind was taken over by whirls of questions - mainly revolving around this crucial interrogation, how had she ended up in her own bedroom, over the night? Yet, despite this great confusion, she could at leat focused on one thing: she was home, she finally was with her father.

"Truly, you are?" Lord Imrazôr asked, almost not trusting his own ears.

Yet even he, as an anxious father who had just been reunited with his beloved daughter, had to admit Gilmith looked quite alright and apart from a few signs of weariness, she bore absolutely no traces of ill-treatment.

"I am..." she nodded, "I was... I was injured during the attack, yet I was well taken care of afterwards..."

It was an immense relief for her that her father chose not to ask any further questions. Perhaps lord Imrazôr was himself too glad to have found his daughter to bother with the details, as long as she was well, and the story of her journey back home could always be told some time later, after she had rested some more.  
For now, they fell into each other's arms and while Gilmith could not restrain her sobs, lord Imrazôr also shed many tears himself, covering her hair and forehead with kisses. She finally took time to cry a lot, so much that at some point she did not know anymore what made her cry - was she happy she had returned home, to her father, was she sad she did not have the chance to bid Maglor farewell, or was she completely desperate at the thought of never seeing him again?

When Gilmith finally managed to take a proper look at her father, she was shocked to notice his tired features. It seemed that in the span of a month and half, he had aged drastically, for new wrinkles had appeared at the corner of his eyes and his hair turned grey above his temples. Guilt spread through her insides, as she stared at him, thinking of how she had spent so many days tarrying on the seashore, in Maglor's company, barely worrying about her family.

"At first, I believed you had died..." whispered lord Imrazôr, still distressed, and once more he held his daughter tight.

"I won't leave you ever again, Father," promised Gilmith in muffled voice, "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetling." And he sighed, "I should have gone to this wedding with you..."

"I'm afraid that even you could not have done much..."

Gilmith would have liked to find some reassuring words to tell her father, yet she did not get the chance to think about it further. The door on the left of her bed swang wide open, making way to her brother, and Galador, upon seeing that she had woken up, spilled the dishes he had been carrying from the kitchen. For a few seconds, he stood behind their father, completely stunned, blinking slowly, then he leapt on the bed and found a way to steal her from their father's grasp.

"Gilmith!"

He had yelled her name and as he hugged her, he let himself fall on the bed beside her, nearly crushing her in the process - that was quite typical of Galador, to almost choke her to death as a way to welcome her back. A few tears gleamed in his eyes, but soon enough he was laughing, ruffling her hair.

"How you scared us, Gilmith! You ought be grounded for having caused us such fear!"

"I am sorry..." she said, earnestly.

"Don't be, you fool!" Galador told her, chuckling.

His cheerful mood had helped their father relaxed and lord Imrazôr now looked fondly at his two children, a smile finally illuminating his face. He felt he had just stepped out of a nightmare, the worst of all nightmares. Losing his wife had by no means been easy, however it had been expected, for he could have never dreamed of keeping Mithrellas forever by his side - it would have been like keeping a wild bird in a cage and watched it waste away. But his daughter, his precious daughter whom he had always pampered... how could he have bore to lose her?

"You seem quite fine," Galador reflected, looking intently at his sister and he patted her head, smoothing the curls he had been messing with just then. "Perfectly healthy, I daresay."

"I am quite alright, indeed," muttered Gilmith, and she brought herself to ask that question, at last, "How did I... end up here, home?"

She could not quite process how she had cover the distance between Edhellond and her father's city, some fifty miles south of the Elven haven. Had _he_ somehow carried her all the way, while she was asleep...

"A few miles away from Edhellond, farmer found on his doorstep, uncounscious," lord Imrazôr told her, squeezing her hand. "That was three days ago."

Three days ago? She had been sleeping for so long...

Gilmith did her best to focus, she had to remember these last moments she had spent with Maglor, in Edhellond. They had been in that small tower, in a bedroom with an actual bed - and she blushed just thinking about it - and what had she done last ?

She had drunk the broth he had given her, yet could he have put some sleeping draught in it? Had he then planned all along that this day in Edhellond would be their last together? Did he know already, when they made love, that he was about to deliver her to her people, at last?

"My dear Gilmith, you must be starving, perhaps I should ask the cook to make you supper, since Galador ruined our meals? It is bit late, however they will surely be happy to get you anything you would like to eat," said lord Imrazôr, shaking her away from her thoughts. "Everyone was greatly relieved that you were finally found, safe and sound."

"I am a bit hungry, that is true," she said, wiping a tear away.

Yes, she was safe and sound...

And heartbroken.

* * *

For a few days, her father and her brother did not let her sleep alone and in fact, they barely ever left her side, which was quite alright, for Gilmith could use all their cheerfulness and their smiles and hugs to keep at bay the immense grief of being apart from Maglor.

Yet the moment she could enjoy some time by herself, at last, she got out of bed as soon as her father had closed the door behind him, for there was something she had to do. Swiftly, she went outside, on the balcony, and there were three seagulls standing on the balustrade, staring at her. Gilmith was not surprised to find herself facing the birds, for she had been spying on them from her window and she knew they had done the same, circling above her father's house from dawn till dusk.

"Has he sent you here to check on me?" she said, stepping forward the birds slowly. "If so, please tell him I made it home safely, tell him he too should go home and tell him, I... that I..." She sighed heavily and added, "Just tell him thank you."

For a few seconds, her fingers brushed the white feathers of the seagull she was the nearest to, then it spread its wings to fly away, closely followed by its two companions.

And so, tears running down her face, Gilmith sat on the bench ornating the balcony, surveying a view that she was all too familiar with - there was the cliff, the beach and the sea.

Where had he gone? And, more importantly, would he ever forgive himself? Then would he go home?

Gilmith would likely never know.

* * *

 **So this is the end.** Or at least, this is how I wanted this story to end, I thought it could not be a happy ending, for multiple reasons. However, I've got a few ideas about what could come next, so I am planning on writing a second part, but not before some time after Christmas. I still need to think about it a lot, because I want it to be plausible (I don't believe Maglor's issues can be resolved easily, as for Gilmith, she still has to deal with her identity).

So for now, I'll mark the story as 'complete', because those 6 (5 and half?) chapters are self sufficient :)

Anyways, thank you for having read this story so far, I have to say my two reviewers left some quite warm-hearting comments I am very thankful for! And thank you also to those who followed/favorited :)

See you soon, when I get my life back!


	7. Alone

This could have been published with the next chapter, but it seemed it would be better to be in a separate chapter, even though it is really short.

* * *

 **7\. Alone**

 **Near Edhellond - T.A. 2028, November**

Maglor had not lingered long, once he had left her by the farm's doorstep. There was no reason she should not soon be found by the farmers and there was no doubt they would be kind enough to bring her back to her father's house.

There was nothing more he could do for her, perhaps he would only wish she would forget about him. He certainly hoped she would go on with her life, whatever the path she chose for herself, and he firmly believed she needed him not to be happy, whether she was to dwell in Gondor or to seek her mother, in Lórien or in the West.

As for him, he would simply resume his wanderings, keeping an eye out for those he might help.

Maglor decided to head north, to leave behind these southern shores awhile. Winter would be harsher up there, yet he feared not the cold, the snow or the frost, and he thought he had stored enough blissful memories in his mind to go through the worst weather conditions. And whatever awaited him, whatever happened to him, he cared not. He was not even sure he deserved to have lived through all these centuries, when so many innocents had perished, and thus his own death was not a scary thought - it had crossed his mind more than once that it might be a relief to finally draw his last breath.

Over the last weeks, Maglor had had a taste of true happiness, even just for a short while. It seemed he had lived someone else's life, it seemed he had stolen someone else's joys. There would always be a place for those days in his heart and in there he would forever walk on the beaches of Gondor with Gilmith.

Oh, he would only have to close his eyes to see her face again, she whom he loved.


	8. Celebrations

**Laerthel:** Thank you, it really means a lot to me! And now I have to do even better, as to no disappoint you! I'm glad you liked the story, I guess it means it's plausible enough and that's something I've been working on a lot. A happy ending might be too much, but I feel quite weak myself, but I did think a lot (too much perhaps haha) about Maglor's story, which means I have enough material for a couple more chapters. I'm still a little bit wary as to how far I can go though, without it looking like a fairy tale. I hope you had a merry Christmas anyways!

And everyone else too (as for myself, I ate too much, that was wonderful).

So this second part is set 50 years after the first. Just so you know what happened in the meanwhile, here's a recap: Gondor no more has a king, the last one (Eärnur) died in 2050, so it is Mardil Voronwë, the Steward, who now rules the kingdom and his son Eradan will eventually succeed him. Gilmith's father, lord Imrazôr, passed away in 2076 (nothing violent, just old age he was 126), two years before this story begins, and her brother eventually becomes the First Prince of Dol Amroth (I decided it'd be awarded the title officially in June 2078, but this is nothing official). Also, the White Tree was still alive back then.

It makes me happy this chapter is set in Minas Tirith (I love Gondor).

* * *

 **Along the Shores - Part 2**

 **8\. Celebrations**

 **Minas Tirith - T.A. 2078, June**

There was a lot of dancing going on in the Great Hall of feasts, in the Citadel of Minas Tirith. Couples were whirling happily and laughters echoed in the ballroom, almost as loud as the music that was played by the harpists and the flutists. The long tables where guests had shared a delicious meal earlier in the evening had been deserted, save for a few individuals who had perhaps drank too much wine and who could not trust their legs anymore. The Steward, Mardil Voronwë, had become too old to partake in merrymaking like these, yet he had wanted everyone to celebrate properly this new title that had been created in honor of the lords of Belfalas. Galador, son of Imrazôr, was now to be called the Prince of Dol Amroth, and, upon seeing him, no one could doubt his line would be strong and long-lasting.

On this occasion, many people had traveled to Minas Tirith and most of them came fron Belfalas and Anfalas, for they loved much their lord and wished take part, even modestly, in the feasts. They were a fair folk, even among Gondorians, and it had been a long since so much Sindarin had been spoken in the Citadel, much to the delight of the city's scholars. And great events like these, where the East and the West of the kingdom mingle together, always lead to all sorts of beneficial alliances, whether it was weddings or tradings - that was another reason to rejoice.

Gilmith was there too, for she could not have missed such an important ceremony, and her presence alone in Minas Tirith always caused some excitment - she and her brother were often met with curious stares, because their mother had been an Elf. That night, she looked especially gorgeous, clad in luminous white dresses and also wearing golden jewels, while her long brown hair was skilfully braided and entwined with ribbons. She might still have the face and the grace of a maiden, she had nonetheless become a lady and even though her brother had been married for more than fourty years, Gilmith was the one they called the Lady of Dol Amroth - hopefully, her sister-in-law was a lovely creature would had never really bothered with such details.

She had remained seated, in quiet corner of the halls, although, in her case, it had nothing do with alcohol. There was a little girl, of no more than four or five years old, who had fallen asleep on her lap and she dared not move, for fear she'd wake the child up.

"Lady Gilmith, I thought I would bring you a cup."

"Thank you, lord Eradan," and indeed she was glad to sip some of the delicious wine that had been brought from the area of Pelargir.

Lord Eradan, the eldest son of the Steward, had sat beside her, eyeing the kid with fondness.

"I gather this is one of your little nieces?" he asked.

"Yes, this is the youngest one. She loves to follow me around, for some reasons, and she usually prefers my lap over her own bed."

"She looks like you, that is perhaps why," mused lord Eradan and fine wrinkles appeared at the corner of his eyes as he smiled.

"Strangely enough, she does take a lot after me," Gilmith acknowledged, smoothing the child's brown curls, gently. "You'd think she'd be mine."

Nodding, lord Eradan gazed at the child and an odd notion crossed his mind - this little girl, she could have been their grandchild, his and Gilmith's. It was ridiculous he still thought about it at times, especially since he had been happily married for decades already and had a family of his own, yet there was something about Gilmith he had never quite understood and he could not help but wonder what it would have been like to wed her.

"If you wish to go dance a while, I would gladly take care of her," lord Eradan offered, as he caught Gilmith staring dreamily at the rejoicing crowd.

"Indeed, I would not mind strechting my legs and I have yet to thank your father for this gracious celebration he has thrown in behalf of my brother."

"Hurry then, Father does retire to his chambers early," said lord Eradan, "his vigor is no more that of a young man I'm afraid."

"Then I shall go talk to him now," said Gilmith, handing her little niece to lord Eradan, with caution, as to no wake her up.

Once again, an awkward feeling seized lord Eradan, while he was settling the child on his lap with the help of Gilmith. Their hands touched, for a few seconds, and he reckoned she too was slightly unsettled, for she avoided his gaze, and when she left, she merely uttered a few thankful words. His eyes followed for a moment, walking gracefully among the other guests, and it was as if she was not really there, as if she belonged in some other halls, greater than these of Minas Tirith.

Lord Eradan had not regrets, he surely could not have lived his life dwelling in possibilities that never were to become real, however everytime their paths crossed, he found himself pondering over old dreams. How would it have been, to be her husband? And was there anything he could have possibly done to erase the melancholy in her green eyes?

* * *

Gilmith was ever surprised Eradan was acting so considerately towards her, whereas he had no real reasons to do so. Worst, he could have held a grudge against her for, to be fair, she had not treated him very well back then, although she had not meant to.

Decades ago, she had bid her father to let her dwell awhile in Minas Tirith with one of her aunts who had wedded a captain of the King's guards. It had been two or three years after her encounter with Maglor, when she had felt utterly distressed at the prospect of never seeing him ever again and during those days the mere sight of the ocean was enough to trigger her tears. Perhaps she had felt weaker because her brother had married recently, perhaps Galador's blissful union only reminded her of her own sorrow. Anyhow Gilmith had chosen to leave Dol Amroth, for a couple of months at least, and so her father had rode all the way to Minas Tirith with her and there he had made sure his daughter would be introduce to the finest young lords and ladies.

Among them, there had been Eradan, the eldest son of the Steward Mardil, of the house of Húrin, and he was a mighty and handsome man, one in which the kingdom took pride. Like many others in Minas Tirith, Eradan had heard about lord Imrazôr's daughter, or more specifically about her Elven-like beauty, for there had been many rumours about her and her brother Galador. And for once all those gossips had turned out to be true, as Gilmith had lived up to her unofficial nickname, Edhelwen, and she had dazzled everyone, despite herself - she had never sought any attention.

Yet, even though Gilmith did mingle with the other young people, never refusing to dance when she was asked to, there was always some underlying sadness lingering in her expression. In Minas Tirith, they all had assumed the attack of the corsairs had greatly affected her - after all, her best friend had found death in that village, the day of her wedding and Gilmith herself had almost perished. However, this tragic story had only added up to her popularity and soon enough, Eradan had fallen in love with her, courting her openly.

When it was known that Eradan had set his heart on her, no one was really surprised and it seemed they were an even match, for the line of Imrâzor was old and noble, and well worth Húrin's house. Not once did Gilmith try to discourage his pursuit of her, for she had thought he was a good man - he was much alike her brother, in a way - and she had also believed _she just had to get married_. She'd never love him, not like a wife ought love her husband, however if she were to live her life in Gondor and forget about her mother, about Maglor and all Elven things, she could have hardly wished for a better man to be with.

During Spring, when Gilmith had been dwelling in Minas Tirith for six months already, she had been ready to be betrothed to Eradan and, if truth be told, the idea of naming her first daughter Fíriel, after her deceased friend, seemed quite appealing. But the day it had really happened, the day he had gotten on his knee, holding her hands and smiling greatly, Gilmith had said no - and she had fled the Citadel, leaving Eradan behin her, puzzled and heartbroken. Seconds before the ring was to be put on her finger, she had seen a white seagull fly through the blue sky, and she had been reminded of dreams.

Gilmith had already known she would never love anyone but Maglor - and she did not hope to see him again -, yet, upon catching sight of the bird, she had realized she could not give up on finding her mother. She could not marry, she could not have children, for her desire to depart and travel North was too great and one day she would do as Mithrellas had done, she would simply vanished. And, unlike her mother, she would make sure she'd leave no one behind her. Thus she had declined Eradan's offer, rather clumsily, and afterwards her refusal had been curt and obstinate, which was quite unfair to him, as he had always been so caring and earnest with her.

But it had all happened a long time ago, and none of them were young people anymore.

"Are you on your way to your lodgings, my Lady? Should I perhaps escort you?"

One of the guard standing by the tall doors had stepped forward her, as she was about leave the Hall, seeking some time alone.

"You are kind to ask, but I only mean to take a little walk around the gardens," said Gilmith with a smile. "My head feels a little dizzy from all the dancing and the singing."

It was not exactly the truth, however she really did intend to go outside, for she wished to have a look at the White Tree - that would help her sort out her thoughts.

After this unfortunate episode with Eradan, Gilmith had avoided Minas Tirith for years - after all, it seemed she belonged to the sea shores. Much later only did she have the occasion to travel there again and she had not bothered so much with social activities, spending instead most of her time browsing the palace's libraries, to her father and brother's astonishment - they never knew she had such interest for ancient lore. Little did they suspect that Gilmith had had real plans and had limited her researches to a few narrow subjects, for she had mainly wanted to learn more about Maglor and his family. That was foolish enough, and she had been well aware of it, yet she had not quite given up on helping him, however small her contribution would be in the end. And so she had believed - and still believed - that if she understood well enough the tragedies of the First Age, she might be able to come up with the right arguments to convince him to forgive himself.

Well... Gilmith have never been so silly that she had believed she would be the one discussing these matters with him. Yet, perhaps, she could convey those words to lord Elrond one day, in Imladris, and then lord Elrond would find Maglor, he would know how and where to find him, and surely he would tell him all this, would he not? Oh, it was vain hopes, for the most part, mere fantaisies, however it had soothed her pain somehow and it had ever encouraged her to look for books and rolls holding tales of the old days and mysterious writings about the Powers of West.

Years, then decades had passed and the idea of heading North had ever lingered in the back of Gilmith's head, but she had done as she had said she would - she had stayed with her father till the end. It was only after the death of lord Imrazôr that she had finally dared face her dreams. Slowly, she had gathered maps and read all sorts of traveling accounts to figure how long it would take her to reach the woods of Lórien, beyond the mountains and the plains. She had lurked in the kitchens quite often too, in search of food that could be easily carried, and she had gone on a few hunting trips, depiste her reluctance for such sport, for there was much she could be taught in the forest.

These preparations had all seemed natural to Gilmith, as if it was her destiny to leave Dol Amoth and Gondor, as if that Elven half of her had long won over the Human half. Increasingly, she had felt she was out of place in a kingdom of Men, east of the Great Sea. She was now sixty-nine years old, meaning she had become an old lady who ought have been a grandmother, yet she still looked like a maiden, fresh and beautiful like Spring - and her Númenórean blood could not itself justify this juvenile appearance. Gilmith's belief was that she was more like her mother than her father, and not just physically, but that her very own self was that of an Elf.

She could tell Galador had noticed it too and that unlike the other inhabitants of Dol Amroth, he did not think she simply looked youthful and had been blessed with long lasting good looks. He knew she was different from them, and even from him, though they were siblings, however he had never dared utter a word about it for he rightly feared she would vanish all of a sudden, like their mother had done, so long ago. Over the last year, the desire to flee had become keener in Gilmith's heart and the sight of the sea always made her restless. The sight of the White of Tree did strange things to her too and that was why she had wished to have one good last look at it, before morning came.

"You too come from the West," she muttered as she sat on the grass, beneath the silver leaves of the Tree.

It was in full bloom and its white flowers shone softly in the night, competing with the light of the stars and the Moon. This beautiful White Tree was what Gilmith loved most in Minas Tirith and she had ever been utterly fascinated by its radiant foliage, for it reminded her of that bright spark she had seen in Maglor's eyes - the memory of the Trees Valinor.

"But your fate is to stay here, to watch over the city... As for I..." she sighed and got up, brushing the shimmering leaves of the Tree as she decided to head back to Merethrond.

Gilmith wanted to see her brother one last time - he was so happy and so proud of his title, she'd always cherish this memory. She had really hoped she would not have to abandon anyone and she had tried to convince herself that her disappearance would not affect Galador too badly, for he had his own family, his wife, his children and his grandchildren. He would be sad yet... would he not understand where she had gone to? Would he not know why she had left?

Anyhow, it was too late. She was ready, every single detail of her departure had been settled carefully. Maps had been copied, provisions packed, and before dawn, she would head down to the stables, to saddle her horse. And before noon, she'd be far already, on her way to Anórien.

Gilmith glanced at the Moon, then at the windows of the Hall of Feasts, and adjusted her dresses, musing she could maybe dance a little with her nephews and nieces, and the younger kids too. She was not sure she could enjoy the feast any longer, not when she knew she was never to see her beloved brother ever again, and she found the gardens to be nice place to be.

It was so peaceful out there. So peaceful that she distinctly heard a whisper, softly pronounced, right behind her.

"Lady Gilmith, you barely changed since the last time we met."

For a second, she thought she had come accross some old acquaintance - there were many people in Minas Tirith she had befriended and she did not always had time to visit them all when she stayed in the city.

Yet something had been a little off with this sentence and, just as she spunned around, she realized it had been said in Quenya.

Quenya...! And who could speak this language with such ease, but...

"Maglor... I must be dreaming, surely!" Gilmith exclaimed, as she found herself facing him, in the Court of the Fountain, mere feet away from the White Tree.

"You are awake, Gilmith," he said, in Sindarin this time. "I had not planned on meeting you again here, in Minas Tirith, yet there was not much time left for me to catch you before you undertook you trip to the North, right?"

* * *

I'm afraid it was one dense chapter, with barely any dialogues, sorry about that!

I actually wonder what happened to the 'real' character, considering Gilmith and Eradan would be a very likely match actually.

Before anything else, I had to make it clear that, Maglor or not, Gilmith would have left Gondor and sought out her origins. The way I see it is that, even if she had not met him, she probably would not have married and would have eventually head to Lórien, because she is an Elf, or chose this life for herself, unconsciously, while her brother never imagined he'd live anywhere else but in Dol Amroth. Half-Elvens are a tricky matter, but I still think all of them get to chose their fate, even if it might have been depiste themselves (well in the case of Gilmith and Galador, they just followed their instinct).


	9. Roads

Since we'll be travelling a bit, just a few infos on Middle-earth in T.A. 2078 : Rohan does not yet exist (not before T.A. 2510) and Dol Gudur has been raised but Sauron fled it in T.A. 2043 (and comes back in T.A. 2460).

* * *

 **9\. Roads**

Maglor had had not idea what to expect.

It had been a few months already since he had chosen to seek Gilmith and during Spring he had traveled to Gondor, from the far South, assuming she would be in Dol Amroth. The seagulls had ever kept en eye on her, although he had not wished to be told everything, and all he really knew was that she had remained unwed and that her father had passed away a few years ago, from old age. Maglor had thought it was a strange coincidence that the only person bounding Gilmith to Dol Amroth had perished, just as some extraordinary event had lead him to believe things had changed for him too. And so he had looked for her and trailed her all the way to Minas Tirith, through lands he had never allowed himself to visit before.

He had been very little surprised, when he had discovered that Gilmith was about to leave Gondor, upon seeing her spend a whole night in one of the the stables located outside the city's walls, reading maps and making sure her equipment was fit. He had felt proud she had not given up on her dreams of journeying North and hope had sparked in his heart, for he too deemed it was the moment for him to undertake this journey throughout Middle-earth and to the Grey Havens.  
It surely could not be accidental that they both happened to be ready at the same time. Was it not one more sign that suggested he should finally surrender and sail West? Ah, if only the Eagles would show him the way... he really did look forwards seeing one of them.

But, right away, he had other matters to deal with. He had taken a big chance in catching Gilmith unaware, in the middle of the Citadel, and on what seemed to be a feast night. She could have been angry at him, after all, she could have yelled, she could have slapped him even... yet all she did was crying, rather silently.

A frightful number of tears were rolling down her cheeks, as her shoulders were shaking, and she said no words, she did not even look at him. The shock was great, and totally unexpected, and suddenly fifty years of untold sorrows had risen - it was almost as if his appearance had caused more damages than good.

"Gilmith... Gilmith, I mean not to..." mumbled Maglor, gently leading her behind tall cypreses.

With his dark cloak and his hood hiding his face, no one would have suspected he were an Elf, unless they came extremely close to him - good thing Gondorians were a tall folk -, however he was cautious and he wished not be disturbed.

"Gilmith... would you rather have me go away...?" he asked, and he could not help but wipe away a few tears from her eyes, horrified as he was to have triggered such distress.

"I was convinced I would never see you again!" she exclaimed, between two sobs, and her pride gave in - she wrapped her arms around him, burrying her face against his chest.

"So was I..." murmured Maglor, heaving a sigh.

He stroked her hair, his fingers trailing her braids, and it felt painfully delicious to lose himself in her sweet smell. He was not entirely sure he had taken the right decision and he was even less sure Gilmith should be involved in his hazardrous assumptions, yet in that moment he was ridiculously happy he no more was alone.

"Why are you here?"

"I told you, I would like to travel North with you."

"Really? You would leave the seashore? You would give up on your wanderings?" Gilmith said, taking one step back to better look at him.

Maglor nodded, a small smile curling his lips. "Something happened that made me realize I should not be running away anymore."

"What happened?"

"Now is not the time to discuss this, and these gardens are not where we should do this either," he said, shaking his head.

Gilmith grabbed his sleeve, panicking. "But-"

"I only came to make sure you would expect me at dawn, in the stables," Maglor said and he cupped her face, putting a light kiss on her forehead. The touch of his lips on her skin seemed to appease her, for she closed her eyes briefly and her cheeks reddened.

"You would not be joking about something so serious," she said, in a weak voice, and tears were gathering at the corners of her green eyes.

"Do believe me, I will be there," he promised bending down to kiss her lips, before disappearing into the gardens.

* * *

Gilmith had not been able to sleep, neither to rest. She had only made a brief appearance at the feast, after having met Maglor, just long enough to congratulate her brother once more and to kiss him good night - and goodbye. And since she was back in her chambers, she had paced around the room till the sky had turned paler, eastward. Too many thoughts were whirling in her mind and, while she had already been quite fidgety at the idea of leaving behind her brother and the kingdom she had always dwelled in, the mere fact that Maglor - him, really! - would be waiting for her in the stables was enough to completely wreck her attempts at remaining calm.

She was so anxious, she forgot to switch her white dresses for plainer traveling clothes and it was a good thing she had at least put on a grey cloak so those few people awake before dawn did not notice her fancy attire. On her way down the Seventh Gate, Gilmith turned around once, to catch sight of the White Tree one last time, and then she hurried through the levels and the gates of the city, almost running for such was her restlessness.

The stables were outside the walls and at such an early hour, barely any of the grooms were there and they were too sleep deprived to bother with some zealous horse loving lady. And none had seen him sneak in, he who stood by Gilmith's bay mare, wrapped in a worn cloak, a harp strapped to his shoulder.

She, on the other hand, spotted him straightaway, and this time she did not hesitate, throwing herself on him, searching for his lips. Maglor had been hesitant to kiss her the night before, then it had not even crossed his mind he should try to, but he found he had been craving for it, way more than he would have liked to admit. For a while, that was all they did, kissing and hugging, and both were surprised nothing had changed - the same desires lead to the same caresses. Perhaps they had become a little shy, or perhaps they still feared there time together was short, and so they were careful and delicate in their embrace.

"When were you planning to leave?" asked Maglor when he could catch his breath.

"Before sunrise."

"We should hurry then, we have been delaying our departure long enough" he said, smiling fondly at her.

Gilmith blinked and she seemed to be suddenly remined she was in a stable. "You can ride this horse, he is one good fellow," she told him, gesturing at a dappling grey stallion who had been spying on them for quite a while already. "But I'm afraid I did not pack enough food for two..."

"Don't you recall I possess a certain talent at surviving in the wild?"

"Of course, you do... It's just... I still cannot believe..." said Gilmith, bewildered.

After that, it all happened quickly. Maglor needed no sadle, nor bridle, thus the horses were taken outside at once, for Gilmith's mare had been ready to go too, and in no time they were galloping towards Anórien, river Anduin flowing eastward, the mountains standing westward.

Gilmith was free to leave Gondor, no one would have denied her the right to journey. However, as she was speeding away from Minas Tirith, she had the strange feeling she was fleeing - at least, she was letting down her brother.

* * *

At dusk, they sought a place to settle for the night and since they had come in view of Firien Wood, they stopped at the edge of the forest, where it was easy to hide - not that they had to be afraid of any dangerous encounters, but they wished to be discreet. It was a surprisingly beautiful spot and glimmers of Minas Tirith's white walls were still visible, afar, and the moonshine gleamed on the water of the Entwash, while the river Anduin outlined the dark shape of Cair Andros.

Gilmith was weary from her day and, as she sat by the fire Maglor had lit, she could not quite process yet she was on the other side of the White Mountains - still in Gondor, but farther from home than she had ever been. Home... would it always be Dol Amroth, even if she were to dwell among Elves, for centuries to come? Or was a true home elsewhere, in Lórien, or in the West?

"Maglor, tell me, where is this place you call your home?" Gilmith asked, nibbling on a piece of bread, absentmindedly.

"My home? What do you mean?"

He had sat beside her, immensely glad to share a meal with someone - well, it was not just anybody, it was his dear Gilmith, of whom he had sung sadly for years - and it seemed their food was the most delicious he had ever tasted.

"You dwelled in many places, in the West and on this side of the Great Sea, you saw lands that no more exist... but where is your home?"

"Beleriand broke down, Middle-earth I never explored, aside from its shores, and further East I never ventured," Maglor said, thinking aloud. "The West... I suppose the West has not changed, for these lands are everlasting and on the green hill of Túna, white Tirion shines still, that I do not doubt... yet my home, where would it be? I'm afraid you will have to make do with a very vague answer, Gilmith, for I would say my home is wherever my mother is."

Gilmith pouted and nodded silently, staring at the crackling fire.

"You won't forget Dol Amroth," he told her, sliding his fingers in her hair, "yet it does not mean it will be a sorrowful memory."

She closed her eyes, as she leaned against him, and wondered, "Do you really think my life will be that of an Elf and that I... won't age?"

"Do you not suspect the truth yourself? As little as I can be acquainted to Men, I would wager than no other nine and sixty year old lady look as youthful as you do," said Maglor who had wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Since we last met, you have not changed at all, Gilmith, and then I was already convinced you were one of us."

He nuzzled her hair, inhaling her sweet scent, and he felt it, this great desire, rising once more in his chest. However there was no hurry this time, or so he believed, and it was quite enough that they were on the road together, on their way North.

"Then it is a frightening thought that I should survive all those I have known and loved so far, and all things that surrounded me since my birth," whispered Gilmith who had been pondering over these matters for a long time. "For Dol Amroth shall not last forever, shall it? But I, I will still be there."

"So-called immortal life is not a gift," said Maglor, somberly. "I often wished myself I would die of old age..."

This sinister confession made Gilmith forget her own doubts and she turned to him, only to meet his melancholic grey gaze. The way he looked at her, it was almost as if he were sorry he still felt tormented, sorry he had not overcome his inner demons, that ever followed him since he had left Aman, and in numbers that had grown bigger over the ages.

"Why have you decided to travel with me...? Why now...?" she asked him in a low voice, cupping his face.

"Have you not noticed it, Gilmith? Unlike you, I am not exactly the same person that the one you met fifty years ago, for something changed about me," said Maglor, with a smile that was hard to decipher, neither happy, neither sad. "Even though the meaning of it remains unclear to me, I dare believe it is a good omen."

He waved his right hand in front of her eyes, flexing his fingers. For a fleeting moment, Gilmith stared at it, clueless, till she saw what he was actually showing her.

There were no bandages covering his hand and the exposed skin was pale, smooth and unscarred. There was not the faintest trace of the calluses and burns that had previously caused him great pain - what he thought was part of his punishment, along with his everlasting banishment.

"It is healed!" gasped Gilmith. "How... how long has it been?"

Maglor's smile had widened and it now was definitely cheerful.

"Three years ago, it started showing some signs of recovery, but it is not until the last few months that it has been completely cured. Odd, isn't it?"

"What happened?" asked Gilmith and she giggled a bit, for she was so happy for him, and so relieved to that his sufferings had lessened.

"Nothing peculiar, or at least nothing that I can recall."

"Have you perhaps finally saved more people than you've... slain?"

"A decade at least has passed since I last helped someone, but it might be it," said Maglor, not quite convinced. "I saw no Eagles, though. I really did believe I would see Eagles."

"Why would you see eagles?"

"For they are Manwë's messengers... I always imagined they would appear somewhere in the sky, the day I was to be forgiven and welcomed back in the Undying Lands," he explained, gazing quickly at the sky. "It is silly, isn't it?"

"No, of course it's not."

Gilmith held his hand in hers, rubbing it gently, and hope fluttered in Maglor's heart. He allowed himself to dream, to foresee a future that might not be full of darkness and grief - it filled him with a strength he had lacked for so many years.

"I must admit I'm frightened by my own hopefulness, for I do know my hand being healed is a sure sign things have taken a better turn for me. However I am... puzzled and am not sure of what should be done next... What sort of forgiveness have I owed?"

"What other forgiveness could you be given but the right to sail West?"

"Would a ship be ready for me in the Havens? Perhaps I should be content if I could merely lead a normal life in Middle-earth, among the other Elves, for I secluded myself for millenia..."

"Maglor, what is it that you really wish for?" Gilmith told him and as she cupped his face again - it was as if she was the only who could soothe his worries and reason him. "Do you remember you told me the sole pardon you sought was that of the Valar? And is it not what was given to you, if your hand has healed? Does it not mean the curse has been broken?"

"Is it what was given to me...?" he muttered, staring at his right hand.

"It is and I suspect your wounds cured because you finally started to forgive yourself," Gilmith said and slowly, she kissed his cheek, then his brow. "However, it does seem you have not quite entirely make peace with yourself, Maglor, and only when you will have faced your own fears will you be able to set foot on the ship that will take you back home."

"Would that you be right, Gilmith, woud that you be right..."

The words escaped Maglor's mouth, in a breath, as he buried his face in her hair, closing his eyes - at least he no more was alone, and such comfort could Gilmith bring him!

* * *

It was the first night they spent together, after these fifty years of separation, and shyness seized them as they laid down, amidst high herbs, under a clear sky full of twinkling stars. Gilmith had oft dreamed to be in Maglor's arms again and, truth be told, her nights had been full of such fantaisies, yet now that he was actually there the joy of being with him overwhelmed her - and every now and then she shook her head in amazement, for he was _there_. Maglor, on the other hand, was fully aware of the chance they had to be together, but he was too gentle to rush her into anything. And he quite loved it to simply lie down beside her, it seemed the grass had become fresher, the stars brighter and his own heart, lighter.

"It is a tad cold, is it not?" whispered Gilmith, eyeing him with hope.

"Oustandlingly cold for the month of June," Maglor retorted, turning onto his side and sliding an arm around her waist.

That was all Gilmith had been waiting for and she snuggled against him, sighing with ease. How had she even considered marrying another one, she did not understand, for no one could compare to Maglor - no one in Gondor, and no one in the Elven realms, she'd wager.

"Sometimes I thought you were some figment of my imagination," she said, stroking his face, finally daring to look at his sharp features and sparkling grey eyes. "A dream I had come up with after the beam fell on my head, for I had never seen someone like you. I had read your folk was a noble one, yet I could not have conceived one could be so... regal."

"Gilmith, you do flatter me," Maglor muttered, "yet I am barely a shadow of who I used to be..."

"Then perhaps I shall become blind the day I see you in your full splendor," Gilmith chuckled and she put a quick kiss on his lips - and another one, and one more.

Maglor did not resist the teasing long and he soon locked her in his arms, crushing her mouth with his. He was resolved to limit their games to kisses and caresses, but his hands did travel in places he had been longing to explore, causing some stir. In the end, it was Gilmith who calmed him down, whispering in his ear that they now had all the time they need to find a better place for their love to bloom - she had not quite given up on her newlyweds fantasy, which was by far her favorite one.

"I had promised myself I would be wiser this time," confessed Maglor, bashful, as they broke apart. "Yet it does seem desires are not be put aside so easily."

"It is hard indeed," whispered Gilmith, with a smile. "Yet tonight is a bit too early... is it not?"

"There is no hurry..." he told her, putting a kiss on her forehead while she yawned. "Now, sleep all you want, I shall still be there tomorrow morning. I am done with running away."

Maglor himself had not planned on sleeping, for he wanted to keep a watch all night. The area was considered to be safe, but he was wary nonetheless, and he was too happy to rest anyways. So, as Gilmith had fallen into a deep slumber, he sang a song of old, one he had learned in Valinor and that celebrated the warm nights of Summer.

* * *

To be honest, I won't provide any detailed explanation on how Maglor's hand healed of its own. It coud be he finally forgave himself (which is one of his biggest issues), or that the Valar can heal him from afar (they could have decided he has wandered long enough to atone his sins) or it could be that falling in love was part of the cure (the romantic option haha). I'm not sure myself what did it, I like to think some of the powers acting in Arda have to remained mysterious :)


	10. Woods

Mellyrn is the plural of mallorn.

 **Alalaes :** Thank you, I'm glad you like them! I started writing this story with the firm idea of not giving them a good ending, but slowly... it gets better :)

When I was considering writing a second part, I was reluctant about the "Lothlórien" episode (this chapter and the next). It seems only logical Gilmith would go there in the hope of meeting some of mother's kin and discover more about her Elven heritage, but it implied that Galadriel would make an appearance, something I wasn't so sure I could write nicely (I'm like Gilmith, I'm very intimidated by the Lady).

* * *

 **10\. Woods**

Days passed by and soon they had rode through Calenardhon, and then they crossed the river Limlight, entering the field of Celebrant. There, westward, they could see Fagorn forest and its tall and old trees - Gilmith had heard many strange tales about it and its mysterious inhabitants - while, eastward, flew river Anduin. Across it rose the dark silhouette of Mirkwood, where darkness had lurked till recently, and the land was still cursed and haunted by foul beasts. Upon beholding this area, Maglor's face became sinister and he hastily announced they should go farther west and turn their back to the shadows. And, at last, North of them lied Lothlórien, a magical forest whose gold-leafed mellyrn filled travellers with wonder, and whose powers neither Gilmith, neither Maglor fully understood.

Their journey was surprisingly pleasant and, during evenings, and sometimes late into the night, they talked - in fact they talked a lot. Maglor had to tell Gilmith over and over the story of how his hand had healed and, although it was rather uneventful, she did not grow tired of hearing it. Several times, she also insisted on examining his hand, running her fingers on his pale and smooth skin, and her glee was so obvious and so endearing to witness, it made him giggle - no such sound had escaped from his mouth since... ages, surely. They also laughed and they sang together, for Maglor was glad to teach her songs while plucking the strings of his harp. Gilmith now knew he was a renowed menestrel among his people and when she told him she had searched throughout the libraries of Minas Tirith to learn more about him and his familiy, it did astound him.

"I knew the Men of the West had preserved most of the ancient lore, yet it is odd to think our struggles have become popular tales for your folk," Maglor said, as he took a look at one particular book Gilmith had brought with her - annals of the old days. "It is nonetheless flattering you spent so much time browsing old scrolls on my behalf, I suppose."

"I'm afraid these scholarly researches have not taught me so much about you, save for your reputation as a singer and poet," Gilmith told him, chuckling. "I must admit it was a little disappointing."

That they were able to tease each other on these matters was a sure sign things had gotten better for them, even though they could not pinpoint the exact cause of the changes that had occured. However it seemed they were allowed some relief and, in moments like these, a funny feeling stirred within Maglor chest, spreading through his whole body and making his legs wobbly. It was the awareness that someone cared about him and that someone wished to be by his side, whatever the future held for him. And instead of considering himself as a burden, he had slowly started thinking he might just be able to make her happy and merely listening to her provided her much comfort already.

Gilmith had lots to say about these fifty years they had spent apart, for, after all, in a kingdom of Men it was a long span of time. She was reluctant at first, perhaps she was a little ashamed of what she believed to have been weak moments, yet she did answer to all of his questions and in the end, he knew everything that had hapened. Moreover he understood just how much she had left behind or, rather, how many loved ones she had bid farewell to - her brother, her nieces and nephews, and anyone she had ever befriended. It was a trial Maglor could easily sympathize with, having himself cut all ties, long ago, and he found he could easily find the right words to soothe her worries.

And so, wavering between joys and sorrows, they rode further North and finally they had come near the woods of Lórien. The night before they were to reach the forest, it was apparent Gilmith had grown restless and as they camped, she could barely eat anything. She was staring at the fire, wondering what awaited her in the land where her mother came from, and she feared she would no be welcomed there, or that perhaps she would find no traces of Mithrellas or of her kin.

"Shall you inquire the Lady of the Woods about this?" Gilmith asked Maglor, as she caught sight of his right hand while he was tuning his harp.

"Certainly not," he answered, curtly.

"Are we not heading to Lórien?" Gilmith exclaimed anxiously.

"We are, yet I won't enter the forest."

"But... that is where my mother came from, for all I know she still dwells there..." muttered Gilmith, confused and blinking at him.

"You shall go there, Gilmith, but without me."

"Have you not said yourself that the lady of the Woods would be of good counsel?"

She shot him a pleading look and Maglor reckoned he had become tensed all of a sudden. He had meant to tell her earlier he would not enter Lórien, but the time had never been right to do so, and it seemed difficult to explain to her just how much he wanted to avoid these woods.

"Yes, she will be of excellent counsel and I still firmly believe you should meet her," he said, peering at her, guiltily. "And you should spend as much time as you would like with your mother's kin, weeks, months... as you wish."

"Would you not benefit from her knowledge?" Gilmith insisted. "And woud you not be able to... rest in these woods?"

"No," he replied and he put aside his harp, "and I do no wish to see her."

Maglor came to sit by her side and he hugged her from the back, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. For a while, both of them gazed at the horizon and at the golden mist that rose from the forest. Even from afar, they could see the great mallorn-trees twinkling under the moonlight, with their silver bark and golden flowers, and never had Gilmith imagined trees could be so tall and so magnificent - and how would they shine during the day! For Maglor, however, the mellyrn evoked the forests of Valinor and the blissful days of the Trees...

"Your hand is cured..." said Gilmith. "She perhaps knows why..."

"I need no guidance."

His jaw clenched and his brow furrowed, he seemed so stubborn that Gilmith gave up and sighed, "Shall I enter the woods alone then?"

Maglor nodded, "I will wait for you on the other side, as long as need be."

"I'm not afraid to enter these woods without you, I..."

"You fear I will not be there once you get out?"

"I should not, but..."

"I promise you, Gilmith, I shall be there," Maglor told her earnestly. "I told you, I am done with running away."

Hearing this, she turned around to face him and he noticed she had blushed. She fumbled with his clothes awhile, seemingly straightening it, yet it was just a pretext to keep her hands busy for something else was on her mind. He let her untie and tie again his tunic, amused, until at some point, she raised her head, staring at him straight in the eyes.

"Maglor, I... I love you," she said softly, her voice wavering a little.

"I love you too, dear Gilmith," he whispered into her ear, pulling her against him.

That night they made love again, under the stars, and it felt like their first time, only now any feeling of urgency had left them - they could really enjoyed themselves and were no more afraid of displaying their affection for each other.

* * *

On morning, Gilmith rose early to head to Lórien and she dressed well, for she had packed fine clothes just for the occasion. It had amused greatly Maglor to see her adjusting her dresses as well as her braids, but he did not laugh and he had simply helped her getting ready, even suggesting some hairstyles he remembered used to be popular among the Noldorin ladies.

Their goodbye was brief, they exchanged a kiss and Gilmith got on her horse - she knew he would be there, on the other side, waiting for her, and that gave all the courage she needed to ride towards the woods. Maglor watched her leave, gazing at her till she reached the edge of the forest, and for once loneliness was not a weight, as it was only a temporary state and not a curse. There were many mysteries surrounding Half-Elvens and Gilmith might need a long time to find what she was looking for in these woods, yet she would come back to him and knowing this was enough for him to endure solitude a little longer.

* * *

Upclose the trees of Lothlórien, the famous Mellyrn, were so beautiful that, gazing at their golden flowers, Gilmith felt appeased and as she entered the woods, she got down her horse. She was walking slowly, and so did her mare, but the creature held her head high and her ears were straight, heedful to the sounds of the forest - if the horse was so calm, there really was no need to worry. The only real problem at this point was that she knew not where to go, inside the forest, and despite a thorough studying of all books mentionning Lórien, she had never found a map of it, or any indications on how to reach the city the Elves had built somewhere in there. The only indication she could rely on whas that the Galadhrim built platforms on top of the trees and so she kept peering high up. Yet she barely caught a glimpse of _him_.

"Hold on, young lady!"

The command startled Gilmith who stopped abruptly and her mare bumped into her. There was an Elf in front of her, a lean and graceful fellow, with long golden hair, and he had jumped down the nearest tree, his cloak flowing behind him.

"Who are you?" he inquired, approaching her swiftly.

He held a bow, crafted in a fashion Gilmith had never behold, but he was not wary of her, for in his blue eyes all she saw at first was genuine curiosity.

"Gilmith, daughter of Imrazôr," she answered automatically and she was so nervous she forgot to mention her mother's name - the one that mattered most in these woods.

"You are a daughter of the Men?" Eyebrows raised high, the warden shot her a quizzical look.

"My father was a lord of Gondor, yet my mother was an Elf and she was called Mithrellas," Gilmith explained, doing her best not to stutter.

She was not scared, yet she felt immensely intimidated.

"Mithrellas, you say?" And it was impossible to tell if this name was familiar to him or not, for his fair face remained still.

"Yes, she was a companion of Nimrodel and she traveled with her to Edhellond, to sail to the West."

The warden frowned. "Nimrodel never reached the haven and our king perished in the sea, while waiting for her."

"And my father walked upon my mother, in the forests of Belfalas, and he wedded her," said Gilmith, unwavering, and this line she knew well, as she had repeated it over and over, ever since she was old enough to talk.

"Why is she not with you if she is one of us?" wondered the Elf, peering around the woods.

"She vanished, decades ago, thus I came here looking for her, or for some of her kin and... if the Lady would be so kind as to grant me some of her precious time... perhaps she could help me."

Silent fell for a few moments and the warden seemed to relaxed.

"Your tale is a strange one, yet it is undeniable Elven blood runs in your veins," he said, lowering his gaze on Gilmith. "And if indeed you are a Half-Elven, then you were right to come in our forest and wise to seek the counsel of the Lady."

He fastened his bow across his back and added, "Now come with me, Gilmith daughter of Mithrellas, there is a stream we have to cross, and then we shall head to Caras Galadhon."

He then took her hand in his and lead her to the West, while Gilmith's mare followed them diligently.

* * *

Rúmil - at some point, it crossed his mind he should introduce himself - and Gilmith traveled all day through the forest and they reached Caras Galadhon late in the afternoon. By then Gilmith was under the impression she was in a dream, for such was the ehtereal beauty of Lothlórien, and never would have she imagined real houses could be built in trees, and now it seemed to be the most appropriate dwelling of all. She also marveled at the Galadhrim themselves, for she had never seen so many Elves at once, and they were all so elegant and graceful that at first she felt it was obvious she did not belong there. Was she not clumsy and odd, among these elegant beings whose laughters even were as clear as crystals?

At length, Gilmith was welcomed by some of the Silvan Elves dwelling in Caras Galadhon, yet she was told there were few of them in the city, for they loved to wander in the forest and sleep under the stars. Before leaving her side, Rúmil promised he would spread the word among the woods that someone had come seeking the wherabouts of Mithrellas's kin and that was all he could do for the time being. At least Gilmith was assured she could stay in Lórien as long as she wished and the Silvan Elves said they would bring her request to the Lady's attention as soon as possible - apparently lady Galadriel and lord Celeborn were attending to some guests, outside of Caras Galadhon.

Once she had overcome her own shyness and dared compare herself to the Galadhrim, Gilmith finally thought she had truly deserved her nickname, Edhelwen, that so far she had deemed to be pretentious. Indeed, their customs and manners were different from hers, however it had now become obvious she shared many of her features with these Elves, especially with those of the Silvan folk. The pale shade of her green irises seemed rather common, whereas in Belfalas most people had had grey eyes, and she noted she was about the same height and shape than most ladies she came across - had it not been for her Gondorian clothes, she would have looked like them all. Perhaps Lothlórien was a little home, if she could mingle so easily among the Elves, and that alone caused her great happiness.

Soon Gilmith also realized Maglor looked like none of the Elves dwelling in the forest, whether they were Sindar or Nandor, and she could have listed all these details, little or not, that set him apart from them. None had bright eyes like his, for none had seen the Trees in the West, and none either was tall and sturdy like him, and none... none was as handsome as he was, although she could not have called any of them ugly. The term of 'High Elves' had been a vague idea thus far, as she only had met one of them, but it was only then she understood what it encompassed - it was like comparing Númenóreans to the men of Middle-earth. And Gilmith wished she could shortly meet the Lady even if only because she too was a Noldo.

* * *

When Gilmith was announced the Lady would meet her, merely a few days had passed since her arrival in the forest. She had not yet heard of any of her mother's relatives, for the Elves were still searching for them and so far it seemed none of them dwelled in Lórien these days, but she had befriended the Silvan Elves who hosted her and had learned many things from them - knowing very well they could teach her so much, were she to stay among them longer. And upon telling her she was to have an audience with lady Galadriel, they gifted her with new garments and it was clad in a silky grey cloak that Gilmith ascended the wide wooden stairs leading to one of the greatest telain of Caras Galadhon.

To say that Gilmith was anxious was perhaps an understatement, for she felt her own existence was hung on a single thread, that the Lady had the power to cut if she will to. Would Gilmith have to head back to Gondor in the event that it was decided she was not an Elf? Had she thus far wasted her mortal life, fooling herself to be something she would never be? As she waited on vast terrace, built so high she could see the sky through the large leaves of the mallorn, Gilmith doubted every one of her beliefs - perhaps she was not as similar to the Silvan Elves as she fancied, perhaps she only looked youthful because the blood of Westernesse flew in her veins, perhaps... Yet the appearance of lady Galadriel drove away all her worries, awhile at least.

The Lady was of such spectacular beauty, it would have been easy to feel like an ugly duckling in her presence, yet it seemed the brightness of her gold and silver hair irradiated everything around her. Gilmith was under the impression even she had began to shimmer, as she stepped slowly towards her host, and soon she realized looking at lady Galadriel's face was much like looking at Maglor's face - at least, at the beginning, when Gilmith had barely known him - for the Lady's features were so fine and her eyes so sparkling, it was literaly blinding, like gazing at the Sun. She was tall too, tall like a man, and mighty, although her powers were comforting, strangely enough, and it was hard not to be drawn to her.

"Do come here, child," said lady Galadriel beckoning Gilmith to stand closer to her, "I must admit I am rather curious to encounter another Half-Elven."

It was a good thing Gilmith came from an old line of Númenórean lords and that, a few decades ago, she had met the King and attended royal feasts, for in this moment she had to muster all the grace and the decency she was capable of to greet the Lady.

"It is an honour, my Lady," said Gilmith as she curstied. "I am very grateful you were kind enough to spare some of your precious time to meet me."

"And I am glad you chose to come to Lothlórien," the Lady told her, flashing a smile so dazzling that the poor Gilmith felt blood rush to her face. "I was told your father was Imrazôr, a lord of Gondor, and that your mother is Mithrellas, an Elf who dwelled in these very woods."

"Indeed... and that is all I know about mother, save for the fact that she traveled to Edhellond with one of her what I really meant to ask you is... related to my own nature."

Lady Galadriel nodded gravely and sliding her fingers under Gilmith's chin, she lift her head up and gazed at her quietly.

"Half-Elvens like yourself are quite rare and even unheard of, since the old days are over," she said, as Gilmith did her best not to blink. "Perhaps your father and mother never suspected you could actually be an Elf, they must have assumed mortality had tainted you."

"Shall I die of old age, then?" inquired Gilmith, her voice wavering.

"No, your assumptions were right, young one," said the Lady, shaking her head slightly - and dozens of flickers brightened her hair. "You have inherited many features from your mother, one of them being your very own nature. You are an Elf, or chose to be one, to be exact."

"How could I chose? I... I was given no choice, was I?"

"Other Half-Elvens were given a choice, by the Powers of the West," explained Lady Galadriel. "Yet, in your case, I would suppose the choice was up to you, and it might be that you have decided for yourself, long ago. Just like your brother followed in the footsteps of your father by becoming the Prince of Dol Amroth."

"Then could I... could I take a ship at the havens, in the North, and sail away, wherever my mother went?"

"Indeed, since you are an Elf, you are free to take the path to these faraway lands," said the Lady and her tone was grave. "Of course, rest assured you are welcome to dwell in these woods as long as you wish, till you feel you should leave Middle-earth."

Lady Galadriel gazed some more at Gilmith and her blue eyes saw deep within her heart, as if no secret could escape from her. She could see everything, the doubts, the fears, the sadness of having never known her mother, and also the love she bore her father and her brother, and...

"He came with you?" exclaimed the Lady, her brow furrowing.

"Who—"

"He is alive, after all these years... Withered, weary, yet still alive and still here, on this side of the Great Sea..." whispered lady Galadriel, thoughtfully. "And... you love him, do you not?"

"I do, my Lady," Gilmith replied feebly and, shrinking, she believed she had just lost all of the Lady's sympathy.

"These are old feuds... and I even could not be accounted to be blameless, however... a son of Fëanor, he would not be welcome here."

Lady Galadriel had spoken in low voice and she no more was addressing Gilmith, for she seemed lost in some old memories, reminiscing a tragic past.

"Oh, but he has no intentions of entering these woods," murmured Gilmith, bracing herself, "and I alone sought to meet you, my Lady."

During the ensuing silence, Gilmith wondered if she ought tell lady Galadriel of what she suspected to be Maglor's real reasons not to come in Lothlórien - that he somehow was afraid to meet his kinswoman.

"He fears me not, he fears himself only," said the Lady, answering Gilmith's silent pondering. "What he really dreads is what I could see in the depths of his heart and he will not face the truth about himself, even after all those years have passed."

"In spite of everything, I can assure you, my Lady, that there is good in him, far more than there is evil and his repentance is earnest."

"Perhaps, yet it is not up to me to judge him," shrugged lady Galadriel and her clear blue gaze was once more focused on Gilmith. "No one on this side of the Great Sea has the power to absolve him... Yet I... I do know someone dwelling in these parts of the world who would meet him readily."

The Lady seemed lost in reflections, pacing around with her white robes flowing at her feet, and Gilmith, hesitant, waited a long time before finally venturing a question, "Who would that be, my Lady?"

Lady Galadriel stopped and Gilmith would have sworn she was reluctanct to utter the name, although her expression was unreadable.

"Lord Elrond, my daughter's husband... he who was raised by Fëanorians."

Gilmith gaped, clasping her hands together.

"I do think they should meet, my Lady, and I still entertain the hope we could head to Imladris after I leave your woods," she said and she was trembling a little, because it seemed the Lady would help Maglor, if only indirectly. "However, he... he refuses to even discuss this option..."

"Oh, but there is no need to travel this far, for it happens lord Elrond is staying in these woods as we speak."

"Is he?" breathed Gilmith, completely taken aback. "But... my Lady, I promised him I would not say a word about his presence nearby this forest and... it would be quite a shock for him to meet lord Elrond, I reckon, especially if it were to catch him unaware..."

"Then we could always pretend I did not consult you, dear child, and took this decision myself," said lady Galadriel, a mysterious smile spreading on her face. "It might be a shock, indeed, however you do believe it is what he needs, do you not? A little push, to set him on the right path, for his own good..."

The right path, the road to the West... Would not Maglor believe he truly deserved to sail to the Undying Lands if lord Elrond was to assure him he was worthy of earning the Valar's pardon?

* * *

I did not put too much emphasis on Calas Galardhon's description and such, since I assume you are all familiar with it already and I will surely not try to match Tolkien's description of it! Rúmil is Haldir's brother and while I don't asssume the brothers were the only ones guarding the woods, using him spared me creating a name/character.

As for Galadriel's opinion on Maglor... it's quite explicitly said she did not like Fëanor at all, although it does not mean she did not like all of his sons (and she was on good terms with Celebrimbor, after all). Plus Maglor did foster Elrond, so... I suppose she had very mixed feelings about him, at the very least. Let's not forget they did kill an impressive number of Elves in Doriath where she dwelled for a long time and where Celeborn is from. But that could be material for another fanfic seriously.


	11. Encounters

It took me a while to write this meeting between Maglor and Elrond! Their relationship is quite special and we know so little about it, although it's clearly stated they loved each other (so we can assume, the twins had a rather nice childhood, despite everything). But I like how it turned out, I think...

* * *

 **11\. Encounters**

A fortnight had passed since Gilmith had entered the woods and Maglor had relocated north of the forest, at the feet of the Misty Mountains. There he had befriended the birds and had learned a great deal from them, about roads leading to what had been called Eregion during the Second Age, where his own nephew, Celebrimbor, had been lord - he knew this not since long, for it was Gilmith who had told him most of the stories of the Second Age. The birds had also told him about the shadows of Moria, and those who had inhabitated the south of Mirkwood, and this darkness worried Maglor, even though he was not take part in this battle. And after a few days spent on the slopes of the mountains, he had also asked the birds if any Eagles had been sighted in this region, however they had not been seen them lately.

One night, as bright stars twinkled in the sky and a warm breeze blew from river Anduin, Maglor caught sight of someone walking through high herbs and small bushes. It was a single Elf coming towards his direction and, although Maglor had become highly skilled at hiding himself, he felt he had been spotted. The Moon was full, and its pale light shone on the black hair of the wanderer and as he began to ascend the hill, his face came in Maglor's view - confirming his suspicions. He had actually recognized the silhouette, the pace, the way he had made a small pause before climbing his way to Maglor.

Elrond... he had become a wise and powerful lord, as he had been fated to. He had fought wars, he had lived through great tragedies and great joys, and now he was one of these rare Elves who had known the old days and had not yet sailed West. Yet in Maglor's eyes, he was still the young child they had found in the cave and who had been brought before him, terrified. He was the young man he had raised to see grow stronger and handsomer, and, as far as he could remember, he and his brother had been his only source of happiness, at the end of the First Age.

"I was told you would not come in the forest thus I came to you," said Elrond, rather solemnly, and he thought he should clarify something right away, for he added, "she did not utter a single word about you, yet it is near impossible to conceal anything from lady Galadriel..."

It was Maglor, the Elf who had fostered him and loved him like a true son, yet it was a Maglor transformed by great sorrows and by years of lonesome wanderings. The old scars, those received during cruel battles, had long faded but guilt and solitude had taken their toll on him, operating what appeared to be irreversible changes to his soul and body. If his frame was still that of Noldorin prince, he had lost weight and he was a little crooked, crushed by invisible burdens he too long carried alone. His face was where the most spectacular changes had occured : his skin was frightfully white, his protruding cheekbones sharpened his features and dark circles tarnished his expression - only his grey eyes shone ever brightly.

"Indeed," Maglor nodded. "I assumed lady Galadriel would sense my presence nearby her woods, one way or another."

He was staring intently at Elrond and to say he was moved was an understatement. He was shaken, from head to toe, and he was also experiencing an unprecedented joy to see this wise and mighty Elven lord standing in front of him. Oh, he had never doubted Elros and Elrond would be met with bright destinies, but to witness it himself...

"Do tell me, Maglor, would you have headed to the havens without meeting me?"

As much as Maglor was rapt with wonder, Elrond was worried and it was not the lord of Imladris, descendant of legendary kings, who had talked, but a younger Elrond, one still haunted by his childhood's fears, and his voice had a definite hurt tone.

"... No," whispered softly Maglor.

"You knew lady Galadriel would tell me where to find you, is that it?"

"Whatever the Lady's opinion is of the likes of me, I did believe that, for the love of you, she would tell you I was traveling to the Havens," Maglor said. "However I was not expecting to see you so soon, I thought we would meet by the sea, before my departure. A proper scenery, a proper time for a farewell..."

"Then it is a relief... twice a relief, even," said Elrond and he took one step closer to Maglor. "I feared I would never see you again and moreover I feared you would never chose to sail back to Valinor... You could not endure forever this self imposed punishment."

"It would be a lie to tell you I had always planned for things to end like this..." confessed Maglor. "Till recently, I still considered myself an outcast, I still thought I did not deserve any sort of happiness... and I would not have willingly face you, dear Elrond, I would not have shown you what I have become..."

But Elrond had noticed it, the change that had triggered Maglor's journey to the North. "Yet your hand has healed, as if you were sent a sign you never hoped for."

Maglor smiled for a few seconds, rubbing his right hand absentmindedly.

"Nothing escapes you, as ever, although I have to admit that even now I harbor some doubts and I wonder if I shall really be allowed back in Aman."

"Perhaps, but you are on your way to the Havens," said Elrond and after a slight pause, he added, "and you are not alone."

"I gather you met Gilmith?" And it was a thought he liked much, to imagine Gilmith and Elrond greeting each other - a dreamy smile crossed his face.

It was silly but he missed her already and he had found he disliked to sleep alone, even though it had been that way for ages and ages. It was funny how he had so quickly gotten used to have her by his side, funny and perhaps a little scary too, at least when she was not around anymore.

"Briefly... it was unexpected, for she is a Half-Elven, born and raised in Gondor, and she travels with you," explained Elrond and he had indeed been quite bewildered at meeting someone he had at first believed to be a Silvan Elf - he had not understood lady Galadriel's insistence on introducing them to one another - and who had turned out be the daughter of a Númenórean and Maglor's lover.

"Unexpected, it is the right term..." said Malgor, as a fond expression warmed his face. "And it works both ways, for I am an old Elf, pursued by equally old demons, whereas she is young... so young and fresh. Am I not an unexpected encounter for her too? As much as she was for me..."

"Certainly your love is unexpected, yet it seems you are well suited for each other..." So was the conclusion Elrond had come to and, as much as he had been taken aback to learn what ties existed between Maglor and Gilmith, it had been comforting to know his foster father no more was alone. "Her eyes sparkle whenever your name is pronounced and even the beauty of Summer in Lothlórien will not dissuade her from following you on your journey."

"She does seem happy these days, yet there is this lingering melancholy in her gaze... it makes me feel helplesss at times."

"It has nothing to do with you," Elrond reassured him. "This is a mark left by the wounds inherent to her Half-Elven nature, for do remember she has left behind a land she cherished and a beloved brother. And had she not left Gondor, she would have still yearn for her mother and for a life among the Elves... It is a cruel choice she had to face, I would know."

"You would indeed..." muttered Maglor who still deeply regretted he never had the chance to bid Elros farewell.

"Was it her idea to go to Lórien?" Elrond asked, changing subject quickly.

"Yes, with or without me, she would have sought to reach Lothlórien, that is where her mother came from after all. And it is on the way to the Havens."

"From what I understood, she wished to travel to Imladris too."

"She did."

"I often dreamed you would arrive in Imladris one day, unannounced yet awaited, and finally putting an end to your lonesomeness," said Elrond - that was what he had meant to tell Maglor from the very beginning.

"My father's name still draws much hostiliy, doesn't it? Who would have welcomed me?" Maglor replied, frowning.

"I would have welcomed you."

"What of your people though?"

"They could have been convinced you are repentant," insisted Elrond, stubborn.

"And at what cost, Elrond? I would have been the cause of many quarrels and, truth is, many reproaches would have been rightful. And I wish not to attempt defending or even justifying what my father, my brothers and I commited because of the Oath we swore... I can neither truthfully assert we acted unwillingly, nor that we had lost all freedom of action the moment we bound our destinies to the Silmarils, for we knew we were slaining innocents, we were well aware what dreadful deeds we were doing... It is true that if we tried to stay away from the Oath, it would call us back, it would torment us, yet in the end we always chose for ourselves - no one but us are to blame for the kinslayings."

"You fought the Enemy alongside the other Noldor, you kept a watch on Angband for centuries and was it not Maedhros who rallied your people, after the Dagor Bragollach, and formed a league?" countered Elrond who could not possibly let Maglor think anymore of himself as a guiltless murderer. "And more importantly you were yourself reluctant to attack Doriath and the Havens, were you not? The first kinslaying had horrified you well enough already and your feelings on the matter ought count for something!"

"Oh, I wept when the clear waters of Alqualondë turned red, I wept and lamented, yet this terrible memory did not prevent me from wielding my sword against the Doriathrim and I did nothing to stop Celegorm from killing Dior. I never opposed Maedhros when it was decided we would lead the onslaught on the Havens... A song, however sincere, cannot outweight these horrors, and it surely does not set me apart from my father and my brothers."

"Then what do you hope to find in Aman?" Elrond inquired. "What sort of hope has the healing of your hand given you?"

"I seek the forgiveness of the Valar, for only they can help me achieve the peace of heart I yearn for," sighed Maglor and he stared at Elrond awhile. "It is hard to picture how it could really happen... I do not know where I could land, I doubt the Teleri would be glad to see me in Alqualondë. And would I head directly to Tirion, where I believe my mother dwell? I suppose I should indeed look first for lady Nerdanel, then perhaps after I shall be summoned on mount Taniquetil and finally face trial - that is what I hope for... To be honest, I do not care about the possible outcomes of it and I would willingly accept any judgement passed on me... I merely hope it shall not deprive my mother from her last living son."

For Elrond, it was sorrowful to hear these words. He would have helped Maglor, he would have tried curing his hand, he would have done everything to convince him he deserved forgiveness, that he had earned it long ago. Yet Maglor's hand had healed by itself, and higher forces governed his fate, and the real cure to his torments lied in Aman. There was nothing Elrond could have done and it was a fact which he now had to acknowledge, painfully.

"And there is Gilmith... the unexpected Gilmith," Maglor whispered. "She has more faith in myself than I do, yet I wouldn't want her to be punished for loving me."

"Nonsense, then I should be punished too," said Elrond, curtly. "And I firmly believe that Gilmith and I loving you is reason enough you shall be granted pardon. You suffered long enough, Maglor, longer than it should be, so do allow yourself a well-deserved rest, and do trust the Valar will recognize true repentance. If I see it in your heart, they shall see it too."

"Thank you," whispered Maglor and at last a few tears rolled down his eyes. "These words... I wanted to hear them from you..."

He stepped forward, hugging Elrond, and their embrace was truly that of a father and a son having found each other after years of sundering.

"Maglor... you were a father to me and my brother, I owe you much," muttered Elrond who was quite teary eyed too. "I only regret I could not be of any help..."

"You had your own life to lead," said Maglor and catching a glimpse of the gold ring Elrond wore he added, "and you have your own family."

This brought a smile on Elrond's face, and wiping a tear away, he said, "I wedded Celebrían, the daughter of lady Galadriel and of lord Celeborn, and we have three children."

"And I'd wager two of these are twins."

"Indeed," Elrond chuckled.

And so they talked, of small things that made them happy and of graver matters that they could not avoid, yet for both of them this night would remain a good memory, one they would cherish till the day they were to be reunited, on a faraway shores. Since Elrond requested it, they also sang songs, most of them they had oft sung together during the old days, and it seemed the stars themselves were listening to them. Yet dawn came at last, and sunrays set afire the golden flowers of the mellyrn, down in the woods. It was a vision of Valinor they were facing and they could not have wished for a better moment to part - temporarily, they knew.

"Farewell it is, then," said Elrond and in the sunlight, he thought Maglor looked grand again, ready to undertake his last journey.

"Farewell, for a while only. We shall meet each other again, in the West."

Maglor had put his hands on Elrond's shoulders and he was not looking at him, he was _admiring_ him, proudly.

"Indeed, it will be my turn to depart, one day."

Nodding, Maglor took a step forwards and he kissed Elrond's forehead.

"I will be waiting for you," he whispered.

Elrond headed back to Lothlórien, slowly going down the slopes of the mountains, and soon he disappeared in the golden mist that had rose from the forest in the morning. Maglor gazed around, at the tall mellyrn, at the great river Anduin and at the great mountains - what a beautiful days it was!

Then he saw it, flying gracefully above the mountains, its wide wings spread out - an Eagle.

* * *

It was not long after she had met lady Galadriel and, incidently, lord Elrond, that Gilmith was told by Rúmil her mother's sister had been found and that she was on her way to Caras Galadhon. She had apparently been back from Mirkwood not long ago - however Gilmith had by then learned that 'not long ago' could mean decades for the Elves - and according to informations gathered by Rúmil, Gilmith's aunt was one of those Elves who tiredlessly wandered through the forests of Middle-earth. Thus Gilmith was quite lucky to be able to catch her while she stayed in Lórien and so on a bright day of July, she met with Maidhlas.

Her aunt quite embodied all of the characteristics of the Silvan Elves, or so thought Gilmith whose knowledge of this folk was still mostly scholarly. She had very long wavy hair, and it was dark blonde, and it was so luxurious that it seemed to be part of her garbs, flowing around her as she gracefully ran towards Gilmith. Maidhlas was lithe and agile and as she hugged her niece, she dragged into a happy twirl, laughing this crystal clear laugh Gilmith had grown so fond of.

"It is incredible! Purely incredible!" exclaimed Maidhlas. "You are so alike my dear Mithrellas, I... Oh, please, be so kind as to let me have a closer look at you."

She had already cupped Gilmith's face and, chuckling delightfully, she gazed at her. Her eyes were green too, of her lighter shade even than Gilmith's, but overall the niece bore great ressemblance to her aunt.

"I do see you take after your father too, some details here and there, how amusing! And your hair, it is perhaps a shade darker than hers..."

Maidhlas's merriness was contagious and soon Gilmith too was laughing, while her aunt gently probed her face, before running her fingers in her hair. This inspection lasted for a few minutes and at last Maidhlas seemed satisfied, as if she had found what she had been looking for, and, wrapping an arm around Gilmith's, she led her to a small telain where they sat.

"Gilmith..." sighed Maidhlas, peering once more at her niece. "I barely could believe it when they told me Mithrellas's daughter had come to Lothlórien, and what shock it was to see you! From I had understood you... you should have been an old lady by now."

What could 'old lady' mean to an Elf who had been gaily wandering in the forests of Middle-earth for centuries and centuries, never once coming in contact with Men, Gilmith did not know, yet it seemed more like Maidhlas had realized her niece was no mortal.

"I remember hearing that Nimrodel had vanished and I wondered if Mithrellas was with her..." said Maidhlas and she had started playing with Gilmith's hair, braiding it skilfully. "And then there were these strange rumours, that the lord of Belfalas had taken an Elven bride, that she was a Silvan Elf... I would have never believed it, till it was known her name was Mithrellas. During these days, I dwelled in Mirkwood and by the time these news reached my ears, she had disappeared again and this time it was clear to me she had left to sail West, as she had intented to do first."

"Did you know she had had children...?" shyly asked Gilmith.

"Yes... you have a brother, is that right? They said she had a boy and a girl."

"Yes, Galador is his name. He... he is the Prince of Dol-Amroth," said Gilmith and though she was proud he held this title, she wondered what value it had for her aunt.

"A prince, you say?" said Maidhlas, smiling. "Your father's line was of such high rank?"

"It goes back to Númenor and to the lords of Andúnië..." explained Gilmith, although she wished not retrace all of her father's ancestry just then - there were some more important things Maidhlas should be told about lord Imrazôr. "You should know my father was a noble man and he truly loved my mother, he... missed her dearly, his whole life."

"I do believe she would not have had children, had she not loved him too," said Maidhlas, gently stroking Gilmith's cheeks. "I dare not imagine how heartbreaking it was for her to leave you and your brother behind... I reckon she dreaded to see the day old age would befall you."

"Could she not foretell I would be an Elf...? Or that I was already one...?" murmured Gilmith. "Why assuming we would both be mortals, when she, our mother, was immortal?"

"Half-Elvens are few, my dear Gilmith, and I'm afraid that even among the Elven folk little is known about them... It is said the children of lord Elrond have been given the choice of their fate, like their father, yet their line is quite the exception. Perhaps Mithrellas thought the Powers of the West would not give you and your brother the same privileges... our family being rather a humble one..."

"It happened though, I did make a choice..."

"And you will head to the Havens, will you not?"

"Yes, I want to sail West since this is where she went."

There was Maglor too, but she said nothing about him - it was quite enough that lady Galadriel had guessed his presence, just outside the woods.

"Maidhlas, will you leave Middle-earth too, one day?"

"Most probably, we are all drawn to there, at some point... yet I love these woods, I love these lands and I am not quite ready to leave them," answered Maidhlas, who had now started making a crown with boughs and mallorn flowers. "This journey to the Havens, you will have to undertake without me, although you should not worry, for small companies of Elves constantly travel from here to Lindon, I daresay you could easily join one, whenever you feel it is time for you to go."

And as Gilmith appeared to be a little troubled, Maidhlas added, "Worry not, my dear, the day your mother, you and I and shall be reunited in the Undying Lands will come soon enough."

Gilmith smiled, letting her aunt adjust the newly-crafted crown on her head. She would not tell Maidhlas she was not going to the Havens alone, this part of the story would remain untold to her aunt, until they were to meet once more in the West. That was quite alright though, they had so many things to discuss, so many things to do together that this summer in Lórien would be a busy one anyways.

Time passed by unknowingly in the land of mellyrn and the beauty of the woods was such that it was easy to forget about the outside world - save for, Maglor, whom Gilmith longed to be with again.

* * *

I haven't found a clear etymology of Mithrellas's name. It seems 'Mith' is grey (like Gilmith), but the ending... so I thought 'las' was quite like 'legolas' so it could mean leaf. So her sister has this 'las' in her name, and I put another color in front of it 'Maidh' (actually it just means 'pale').

The way Elrond sees Maglor is quite different from the way Gilmith sees him. He remembers what Maglor looked like in earlier days and realized how much he changed, but Gilmith just sees him as the most awesome being she ever met :)


	12. Havens

**Alalaes** : It was actually unintended, I only realized it after I published the chapter haha. But yes, it seems Galadriel really did help Maglor. And, I was under the impression Maglor/Elrond reunion was a pretty common theme, but you're welcome! It took me a while to be statisfy with this particular episode.

There's a lot of geography involved in this chapter, I did my best to be accurate but I might have made some mistakes. Lands often changed names and usually on Middle earth maps, older and newer names are mixed... and I had to check how things were in every one of those places in T.A. 2078. Since Moria will be mentionned, I would just like to point out that although the Balrog had been awakened by the Dwarves a little before T.A. 1980, it was not yet inhabitated by Orcs, and the mountains in the area were still relatively safe (the real danger being the landscape itself).

* * *

 **12 - Havens**

It was in early September that Gilmith bid farewell to her aunt and to all the Elves she had befriended while staying in Lothlórien. The forest was such a magical place that if felt bittersweet to leave at last and surely, had she not been so eager to be reunited with Maglor - and with her mother -, Gilmith would have happily dwelled there for years and years, forgetting about her desire to sail West. Yet Lórien was simply a stop on her journey and many wonders awaited her on the way to the Havens, and then to the Undying Lands. And so she had decided time had come for her to depart, as the weather was still mild, for she had realized she and Maglor would have to cross the Misty Mountains soon to reach Eriador.

Gilmith did not leave Lothlórien empty-handed - no one did apparently - and she now wore one of those grey cloaks weaved by the Galadhrim, one whose color seemingly changed depending on its surroundings. They had provided her with food too, and although Maidhlas did not possess much, she had given her two green dresses she had sewn herself - there was one for Gilmith and one for her mother. And to Gilmith's utter surprise, even Lady Galadriel had gifted her with a small wooden box, telling her not to open it right away, but to wait a little, and this vague indication had left her slightly confused as to what to expect.

Rúmil had traveled with her to the northen edge of Lórien and perhaps he was the only one who suspected someone was waiting for her outside the woods, although he could not have known _who_ exactly. And once Gilmith was alone on the plain, back on her horse, she peered around the land, wondering where Maglor would be waiting for her - they had not discuss such details. She headed towards the mountains, as it was there that lord Elrond had met with him, and she rode up a gentle slope, on a small path that had been abandonned some time ago and had become just a narrow dirt track meandering through high grass and bushes.

"Over here, young lady!"

Gilmith saw him, standing a little farther on the road, as if he had appeared there all of a sudden, and a wide smile spread on her face as she jumped down her horse to run towards him. They had not been apart for long - merely a little over two months - and for both of them it had been a bright Summer, preluding to happier days, yet they had missed each other dearly. Their love was fresh and ardent, but mainly it had gone through too much uncertainty for them to endure a long separation. And yes, for Maglor too it had seemed to be a ridiculously great amount of time, thus he merrily welcomed back Gilmith in his arms, sweeping her off her feet and twirling with her, before hugging her tightly.

"I see they have taken good care of you in the forest," he told her, nuzzling her hair in which lingered the enticing smell of mallorn flowers. "You look positively radiant."

"It is a wonderful land and indeed the Galadhrim are most gracious hosts," Gilmith said as she was putting a flock fluttering kisses in his neck - it tickled him frightfully. "But..."

"But...?" he breathed, feeling a little lightheaded from the feel of her lips on his skin.

"No more partings?" she whispered, entwining her fingers in his hair.

"No more partings," Maglor replied earnestly and he did his best to focus. "I do not know exactly where this journey may lead us, however I can promise you we will be together, till the end."

"Coming from you, this is a rather optimistic statement..." Gilmith said, grinning.

"It is... yet you should know, I finally saw one... I saw an Eagle and I thought it did not only mean I am allowed to sail back to Valinor, it perhaps also means I am to be forgiven." He was almost shy to tell her this, to say these words out loud, and a slight blush covered his cheeks as he lowered his eyes.

"You deserve it, Maglor, you truly do."

Gilmith leaned in to kiss him and any of Magor's misgiving vanished right away. Once more he found himself torn between a furious desire to roll with her onto the grass and a more reasonable and more gentle wish to simply keep on cradling her in his arms. Infinite tenderness he felt for Gilmith, and great desire too, and sometimes it made him forget his own purpose. For a few long and delicious minutes he forgot they had to cross the Misty Mountains and that the road to Eriador might be a difficult one.

He maybe even forgot about the Eagle... He was with Gilmith and he was happy, oh so happy.

* * *

 **Dimrill Dale (Misty Mountains)**

Maglor had long studied the maps Gilmith had taken with her from Minas Tirith and, during the Summer, he had scouted the mountains' slopes in search of a road leading to the other side of Hithaeglir. It seemed only logical they should try to go through the Redhorn Gate, the fastest way to Eriador, and it was a good thing Gilmith had not lingered too long in Lórien, for September was still a good month to undertake such a travel.

"They say the pass is steep and dangerous," Gilmith said as they were studying a map, by the fire they had lighted, in Dimrill Dale.

It was their last stop before climbing Caradhras and perhaps it would be the riskiest part of their journey, thus they had decided to rest by the lake Nen Cenedril, source of the Celebrant, and a highly important place for the Dwarves who had built along its banks a stone pillar called Durin's Stone.

"It is, yet we shall proceed slowly and cautiously," said Maglor who was not overly worried about the pass. "We should depart early in the morning, for I do not like this area..."

"This dale? I find it surprisingly beautiful." Gilmith was only mildly acquainted with the legends of Dwarf-folk, but she had read the lake had played a great part in the establishment of one their greatest cities - and she loved legends greatly.

"The eastern gate of the Moria is not far, it is a proximity I would have rather avoided..." whispered Maglor, darkly. "A terrible fiend these Dwarves have awaken."

"What is it...?" asked Gilmith.

As strange as it was, this monster, Durin's bane, was the reason Gilmith's parents had met, however improbable their encounter had been. After all, it was because her friend Nimrodel feared the shadows dwelling in Moria that Mithrellas had headed South, to Edhellond, and that lord Imrazôr had stumbled upon her in the forests of Belfalas.

"A fire demon, a most horrifying enemy," Maglor answered and he dared not say more, for it would uselessly scare Gilmith, he thought. After all, even at the height of their power, the mightiest Noldorin warriors could hardly defeat the Balrogs and when they did, it was more than often at the cost of their own lives. "But the pass is out of its reach, and Elrond told me Elves still follow this road."

'Elrond told me' was something Gilmith had heard often during the last days and every time it had been pronounced she had seen a gleam of sheer pride flash in Maglor's grey eyes.

"I have to admit I felt slightly crossed when I understood you knew lady Galadriel would sense your presence nearby her woods," said Gilmith, while she laid down, resting her head on his lap. "Yet since it lead you to meet lord Elrond... it meant you had not quite given up on seeing him."

"I would not have gone to Imladris myself, yet I entertained the silly hope he would find me before we reached the Havens," Maglor explained, running his hand in her hair.

"I could have been your messenger, had you asked me to."

"You had your own issues to sort out, I would not have burdened you with mine."

"It would not have been a burden," she said, closing her eyes as he bent down to put a kiss on her forehead. "Anyhow, you and lord Elrond met and that is all that matters in the end."

"There is something I did well in my life after all", said Maglor, smiling. "For I did raise two young boys who both have become great lords... Well, Elros was even a King..."

"Had you ever doubted they would achieve great deeds?"

"No... from the beginning, I could tell these children had brilliant destinies laid ahead of them, however I did wonder to what extent their upbringing would play a part in this."

"Did you... did you know King Elros had been the first ruler of Númenor?" Gilmith inquired and she was holding his right hand in hers - she often did this, as if to make sure it was still intact.

"Yes, that much I had heard, for it happened not long after I chose to lead a lonesome life, and I still knew where to gather tidings of the world," Maglor replied. "I had also understood the island had been crushed down, I saw flashes of it from afar and that day the sea and the wind were filled with wrath... But before I met Elrond, I knew not Elros's line had survived the downfall of Númenor."

"Alas, the last king of Gondor passed away almost thirty years ago... Hopefully, in the North, a king still lives, even though he has no throne to claim and calls himself a chieftain."

Gilmith had never had any special interest in these political matters, perhaps because living in Belfalas often felt like living in some independant area, yet she had registered the death of King Eärnur as a grieving event - her father especially had been dismayed upon being told about it. As for Arthedain and its kings however... the last one, Arvedui, had died before she was even born, and since then there had been fewer and fewer exchanges between the South and the North. In Minas Tirith it was said the Dúnedain of the North were a scattered people, but little was known about them in general.

"Elrond told me he fosters the son of the chieftain, in Imladris... Is it not an odd twist of fate that he helps preserving his brother's line, after all these years?"

"It is remarkable," whispered Gilmith and she thought she would be glad if she were to meet some of Galador's descendants, one day - how long would her brother's line last?

"This line is that of Elros's direct descendants, however he had four children who, in turn, had many children too..." Maglor reflected out loud. "Could it be that your father was one of his descendants as well? Had not most of the nobility of Númenor some of his blood?"

"Father's family was kin to Elendil's, thus it might be that they were somehow related to royal house of Númenor..." presumed Gilmith, pouting as she tried to recall some of those old genealogies she had browsed through in the libraries of Minas Tirith. "But it was long ago... I surely could not claim being kin with lord Elrond!"

Maglor chuckled. "Indeed! Yet what a marvel it is, that his line lasted so long... and what a marvel to have met Elrond..."

* * *

 **Nîn-in-Eilph - Mid-September**

Going through the Redhorn Pass had been a arduous road and at some point they had almost resolved themselves to free their horses to continue without them - Caradhras was not a welcoming mountain, especially to quadrupeds. Yet, quite slowly, they had managed to reach Eriador and to put some distance between them and Moria, as they had crossed the region that had once been called Eregion. They swiftly rode westward, as they planned to cross the Gwathló at Tharbad, a ford previously occupied by Númenóreans and that had once been an important waypoint on the road connecting Gondor to Arnor. But before, they had to go through marshes, or skirt it, and they once more had to survey all their maps Minas Tirith to decide what path would be safer.

There were barely any traces of the Gwaith-î-Mírdain in the land they had inhabited during the Second Age and Maglor cursed Sauron for having so cruelly slain his nephew when they caught sight the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil, at the eastern edge of the marshes. By then it was late afternoon and they had decided they would not venture further away this day, for they feared the marshes would prove treacherous in dim light. They had found a small belvedere, that was roughly still in good shape despite most of its stones being covered with moss, and from there the view was beautiful. Dusk came and, while the first stars lighted up in the sky, swans paddled gracefully on the water, fireflies zoomed among reeds and a variety of toads and frogs croaked, jumping here and there.

"I wish we would have a small boat that would allow us to cross the marshes," said Gilmith, gazing at a tall heron who perhaps thought the batrachians were too loud - but quite juicy.

"It sure is a wonderful place, and it is full of birds of all sorts," Maglor said and since he had just finished tending to their horses, he added, "however hooves and wetlands do not mix well."

"No... and according to the maps, no road go through the marshes."

"Let us enjoy these peaceful waters tonight and tomorrow we shall cross Glanduin river," declared Maglor who, truth be told, was hardly concerned by the marshes.

The warm evening light twinkled in Gilmith's long brown hair and she was wearing one of these white dresses the Galadhrim had given her, the soft fabric was flowing in the breeze - beneath it Maglor could discern the curves of her hips, the roundness of her breast. Great desire ever haunted him when he was by her side and he had yet to figure out how to tame it, if such a thing was even possible. He knew lust was just another side of his love for her, but at times he feared he could not control himself very well, and it burned him from within...

"What worries are clouding your mind?" asked Gilmith, the tip of her fingers brushing his face.

"None."

He had taken her hands in his, kissing the back of it.

"There is a crease on your forehead, it only appears when you ponder overly about some trouble of yours."

He smiled, sliding an arm around her waist to pull her against him, and he whispered hoarsely into her ear, "It is a real torment sometimes to merely look at you..."

She blushed, yet she tiptoed to kiss his lips being well aware it would only further heighten his longing. Nonetheless he took his time to undress her, carefully untying one by one the ribbons that held her clothes together, and everytime his mouth trailed on the skin that had been freshly uncovered. The way he proceeded was furiously enticing and soon Gilmith found herself entirely naked, whereas he had not even taken his cloak off. Pleased, Maglor took a few seconds to contemplate her, yet he could hardly restrain himself anymore and thus he sweep her off her feet, kissing her avidly.

Afterwards he could not recall exactly how he had gotten rid of his own garments, but they had been discarded at some point and with a sigh he had welcomed the voluptuous sensation of his skin rubbing against hers. Again it took him much concentration to keep a steady pace, especially since Gilmith had now become accustomed to their embraces and she welcomed him eagerly - her moans and cries drove him crazy. But that night Maglor could not be satisfied easily and he had no wish to rest, he was too happy they were together and too happy he and Gilmith shared the same craving

* * *

 **Sarn Ford - End of September**

If Maglor often refered to his encounter with Elrond, Gilmith on the other hand could talk endlessly about the wonders of Lórien and its people and her description of the great telains of Caras Galadhon were mixed with random inquiries about other Elven realms. Maglor had become less reluctant to talk about the past and about life in Valinor and in Beleriand, although, admittedly, he had not seen all lands and of some he knew but little - Doriath, perhaps, was the best example of his limits. However he always tried to provided her with lenghty answers and he was quite glad to do so, for he found he could now revisit some of his memories almost painlessly, almost objectively. And he was happy Gilmith had so fully embraced the Elven lifestyle in Lórien, since he had feared she might have realized in these woods that she loved her life in Gondor better. But it seemed she had no regrets about her choice, even though it had no been an easy one.

"Are all the Noldorin ladies as fair as lady Galadriel...?" asked Gilmith and as she pronounced the words she realized her question was silly - her voice had lowered towards the end.

They had settled on the western banks of Baranduin river, just after having crossed the ford, and this night was the first cold night of the season, thus Gilmith and Maglor had wrapped themselves in thick woolen cloaks. Sitting by the fire and huddled against one another, their conversation on Númenor had strayed and they had begun wondering about Eregion and the Elven realms of the Second Age, of how many of the Noldor had chosen to remain in Middle-earth... and when lady Galadriel's name had been said, Gilmith had suddenly felt concern.

"Some say she is the fairest of us all," answered Maglor who had absolutely no clue of what Gilmith's real worry was, "which means she is certainly not a typical beauty and could scarcely be compared to others."

"I saw the ladies in Lórien, they are all so beautiful and graceful, I thought I could perhaps blend in, I thought I manage to blend in, but..." Gilmith muttered, frowning. "And in the West, what could it be like.."

"It does not matter that you are a Half-Elven, you shall be allowed in Aman nonetheless and-"

"Yet, over there, will I not be a little ugly compared to the other ladies...?" she whispered shyly, for she was speaking her mind at last.

"Ugly? Why would think of yourself being ugly?" exclaimed Maglor, genuinely surprised by her inquiry.

Gilmith long hesitated, before saying, "I am no High Elf..."

"No, you are not, and perhaps this is why you are so charming," he said, amused to see her look so pitiful. "Oh my dear Gilmith, what does it matter that your hair is not as shiny as lady Galadriel's? Or that your mother was a Silvan Elf and your father a man of Gondor?"

"Does it not make me a rather lowly match for someone like you?" Although they had not openly discussed it, it was clear that she and Maglor could not have considered spending the rest of their lives without one another - and for the time being, that made her his suitor.

"Someone like me? I am but a fallen prince and any prestige related to my name or to my father's has long faded..." said Maglor and he could hardly imagine he would ever again be called a prince. "It might be that you are the one doing me a favor and I still marvel at the fact that you did not flee right away when I told you who I was."

"I could barely stand on my own, let alone run..." muttered Gilmith, shrugging.

"Yet my name, or my father's name, did not scare you," Maglor insisted.

"I'm afraid it has nothing to do with any virtue from my part... Even now, to me what you did thousands of years ago has no real consistency, or at least no more than a sad song could have..." Gilmith told him and she had forgotten all of her aesthetic concerns. "The blood that once covered your hands has long been washed away and I deeply believe you shall nevermore act as you did under the influence of the Oath. And you have been freed from it, what remains is you, your genuine self, and this Maglor, well... it is no marvel I fell in love with him."

She had spoken softly, in a low voice, and she had cupped his face - when tears rolled down his cheek she wiped them away. And she cradled him in her arms, all night, not because he was grieving, but because he was safe and relieved and he needed to acknowledge it fully.

* * *

 **Near the Tower Hills - Early October**

"What is this?" Maglor asked, gesturing at the little wooden box Gilmith was holding in her hand.

It was dawn and they were slowly getting ready to go back on the road, gathering their belongings and preparing their horses.

"A gift I received from lady Galadriel, however she told me not to open it 'until later'... I do wonder what 'later' means exactly... Perhaps I should do it now, before we reach the Havens?"

They were just a few days away from the Grey Havens and already they could detect the salty smell of the sea in the wind. They also had come in view of the Blue Mountains, westward, and the white towers built by the Elves, eastward, and Maglor was moved by this scenery, for it was partially familiar to him - he had seen these mountains often when he had dwelled in Beleriand. Furthermore, Gilmith had told him a palantír was being kept in one of these towers and not only was the stone a creation of his father, it was also connected to the Master-stone, thus allowing anyone who was granted access to it to gaze at the Undying Lands. What a temptation it was...

"A gift from Galadriel?" repeated Maglor, crouching by Gilmith's side. "I'd wager you may safely open it now, for she most likely meant she did not want you to open it in front of her."

"Why so?"

"I reckon she wished you opened it in front of me," he said, intrigued.

"Could you be right?" wondered Gilmith. "It is but a small box, what you could she have possibly put in it...?"

Inside the box was a white satin pouch and Gilmith carefully untied the ribbon to reveal its content : two rings fell in her palm, two golden rings, sleek and shiny. She stared at them in utter bewilderment, not quite processing what such a gift implied, till she noticed one ring was bigger than the other and would certainly not fit any of her fingers...

"There is one for you," she whispered and she felt blood rushed to her face - surely her cheeks had never been redder than in this moment. "I never... I never asked the Lady for rings like these..."

"That is unexpected...!" exclaimed Maglor and, next to Gilmith, he too felt startled, and his heart pounded hard in his chest. His hand was slightly trembling when he took the smallest of the rings to have a closer look at it and suddenly he laughed, loudly and merrily, as he had not laughed in very long time - he had completely forgotten about Mithlond and the palantír. "She has given us a wedding...!"

"Can... can we really do it, even though it is just the two of us?" Gilmith inquired and, despite being baffled, she could not help but chuckle, for his good mood was contagious and he was quite handsome when he was happy - it softened his harsh features.

"We have the rings, as for the vows, I can easily teach them to you, and... we are together," Maglor replied with fervor and he swooped her in his arms, eagerly searching for her lips.

He laughed and kissed her again and again, but, despite his mirth and enthusiasm, Gilmith could not help but be a tad pragmatic.

"Would not a person of your rank deserve a more official ceremony, something more grandiose?" she managed to ask between two kisses.

It was hard not to giggle for his breath tickled her neck.

"The sky is cloudless, birds play their music in the trees and the wind dances with the autumn leaves, is there need for any other guests, my dear Gilmith?" He said while he laid down with her in the thick grass.

"You are a prince, Maglor, your wedding should be magnificent feast, should it not?"

"I am no prince, I am a mere wanderer... Many centuries have passed since last I slept in a proper house, why would a humble wedding not suit me then?" he countered. "Perhaps... perhaps you would rather celebrate our union in due forms...?"

Locked in his arms, her hair tangled with his, Gilmith gazed at the rings, the one she held, the one held, and she was fascinated by the way the sunrays reflected on their smooth golden surface. "No... anyhow the wedding I dream of will never happen..." she whispered thoughtfully. "And all I really need is for you to be by my side."

"We shan't think of those who are gone, neither of those who are far," Maglor declared and he felt an urge to kiss her, to chase away the sadness that lingered in her beautiful green eyes - he'd be a father, he'd be a brother to her, as much as he would be a husband.

"Will you marry me then?" she inquired, staring at him intently.

"Yes I will, beloved Gilmith."

* * *

 **Mithlond - Spring T.A. 2079**

Gilmith and Maglor reached the end of the road at dusk, after having lingered some time in the countryside, where he had told stories of the old days, for once, East of the Blue Mountains, his brothers and he had ruled lands and fought great and terrible battles. Their wandering throughout Lindon had lasted a few months and they had done so happily, as husband and wife, golden rings glittering on their forefingers.

The wedding had been a modest one - a mere exchange of rings and vows - but it mattered not to them, for not so long ago they would have not even dared think it possible to formally seal their union. And so gaily they had traveled, and when the warm days had been back, when the flowers had bloomed again in the meadows, they headed to Mithlond. It was finally time for them to depart, to leave behind Middle-earth and to turn their hearts solely towards Aman.

The towers of the Grey Havens were high and such a view brought one last doubt to Maglor's mind. He was about to meet Círdan, another of this great Elves who had yet to sail West... This one Maglor could have killed with his own hands, had he not come too late to the help of the hidden Havens, and this thought still terrified him. Yet lord Círdan was wise and gifted with extraordinary foresight which, according to Elrond, would lead him to listen impartially to Maglor's plea and to let him embark on a ship.

"This is the end of our journey," said Gilmith, peering at the Sea, and already the white veils of the ships were visible, glimmering under the sunlight.

"Yes, and this is farewell to our old lives," said Maglor, holding her hand, and as they walk through Mithlond, among bewildered Elves, he sang a song, soft yet powerful, sad yet hopeful - he was thanking the seagulls who circled above their heads, for his friends had come seeing him depart to the Undying Lands.

What happened from then on is unsure to those who remained in Middle-earth.

It is however said they did reach the shores of Aman, and that Maglor was forgiven by the Valar and that he was reunited with lady Nerdanel, while at last Gilmith found Mithrellas. It was also believed they dwelled among the Noldor, in Tirion the White, upon the hill of Túna, although the two of them oft went on long wanderings, across vast lands, for they had grown to love sleeping under the stars better than under roofs.

* * *

 **THE END**

* * *

'Suitor' only applies to men apparently, but I used it for Gilmith anyways...

I have no intentions of writing about them anymore and I leave their fate in the Valar's hands :)

One thing though that I haven't really thought about is that, if Maglor is forgiven by the Valar, what of his brothers? Does it not create a precedent? I suppose it's not a 'package deal' and that if one is forgiven, the others might not be, but a few of them do deserve forgiveness as well (I'm thinking Caranthir and the twins because it seems they at least did not do worse than Maglor). I do hope Nerdanel gets back her flock of sons at some point...  
Ah and at the end of the Third Age, Elrond will join them :) (I hope he'll tell Gilmith that her brother's line still exists and that Imrahil is a worthy representant of their family!)

Anyways, **thank you** to everyone who read this story and espcially to those who followed/favorited or took some time to review it! I must admit that at first I thought it was a bit risky to match Maglor with an obscure Half-Elven from the Third Age (sorry Gilmith!) and I was genuinely surprised no one objected to it.


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